


Sepulcrum romanum

by oxfordRoulette



Series: Catacombs [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cuckolding in the loosest sense of the term imaginable, F/M, Illustrated, M/M, Necromancy, Pheromones, Physical Disability, Political Drama, Porn With Plot, Sexual Humor, Swords & Sorcery, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 108,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxfordRoulette/pseuds/oxfordRoulette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The love of your life is distant for reasons you can't discern, you're stuck in the middle of enemy territory, and the Condesce wants your head on a pike. Equip your sickles and ready your magic rings, because things are going to get batshit.</p><p>(Direct sequel to Cum mortuis in lingua mortua! If you did not read the previous fic, please, for the love of god, read the author's notes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Frying Pan

**Author's Note:**

> **!!!!! IMPORTANT !!!!!**
> 
> You should really read [Cum mortuis in lingua mortua](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1786246/) before this if you haven't already. I-It's- It's only, uh, 116k words... Y-y-you can go for a little, little, light reading, right?
> 
> But since I know at least 25% of you are going to click, see that it's actually an elaborate analysis of a fantasy AU version of the best character in Homestuck, pop out your monocle and spit out your tea in a rage, and go back to reading Sepulcrum romanum for the EriKar-- here's everything you need to know about what happened in the first story. **Now's your chance to go back and read it before you spoil yourself.**
> 
> -Karkat is a limber, low-constitution fighter. Karkat (and Kankri) are mutants immune to ALL MAGIC.  
> -Karkat is missing his entire left leg and has a prosthetic.  
> -Related to that: Karkat was permanently disabled in a battle and pretty much ran away from Fantasy Magic Kingdom AU Alternia five years prior, due to their cull-everybody-different policy, abandoning a promising career as a professional magic-immune ass kicker for the empire. He was pseudo-hiding out in human territory at the beginning of the previous story.  
> -Quadrants are taken DEAD LITERAL here - "Matesprit" is literally pitying someone, etc. Or if you prefer: Quadrants circa 2011.  
> -Jade and Karkat are in a committed non-quadrant relationship that had 120,000 words of buildup. They're in love, just roll with it.  
> -Jade is a princess-necromancer. Karkat made a vow to become 'her knight.'
> 
> There's some more stuff you need to know later (namely, dick physics), but just look for that in the author's notes above each chapter! Make sure to read them!
> 
> To everyone who read through my beloved Jade Harley fic: HAHA SORRY.  
> 
> 
> * * *

"Welcome to your final challenge, stubnubs conchsnack!" Mituna spits. "Win this mega awesome boss battle and we get you hooked the fuck up with all the sick benefits of being part of the Knight Coalition. Healthcare! Free lunches! Yo-yo-yoga on Tuesdays! Hot magical bitches, linin’ up for your protection, far as the eye can see!"

"And remember this is try number numero dos-o!" Latula says, in fantasy-Spanglish. "The repeat! Second shot for the second coolest redblooded dude we know! And the last chance you get to pass the test!"

"'Tula, goddamn, that's false, wafflecup. Check your facts and check 'em hard, if he fucks this shit up again he actually gets 67 more tries, coming to a grand total of-"

"-69, dudes!" They both yell. They air-mandolin.

It takes all the self control you have to stop yourself from turning to Vriska and begging for sweet, sweet death. She's looking at them in a way that makes you think she wants to collapse the entire building just to play savior and rid the world of this life-sucking, joy-killing power couple. You wouldn’t blame her. You're certain this is the only time in the history of ever when you and fucking _Vriska Serket_ were the sanest people in a room.

She offers you the popcorn, in solidarity. You’re too queasy to eat.

You are currently sitting on the bleachers in the prismatic grand dueling center of the Knight Coalition headquarters, #16 East 7th St, Porkmor-Khan, Alternia. You have spent a perigree in this hellhole, trying to regain the esteemed, government granted title of ‘Knight.’ You are about to begin your final test, which apparently involves beating up the Knight Captain and her mage, and you have officially changed your middle name to ‘Nervous.’ Your palms are sweaty, your lip thoroughly chewed, and you’re shivering, just a little. It’s because this test matters.

You’ve got to pass. You promised Jade you’d become a knight again, for her.

This is actually the second time you’ve ever taken this test. The first was when there were nine candles on your Sweeps Eve cake, and the Knight Captain/Mage Captain at the time went easy as hell on you because the Empire really wanted a “mage-slayer Vantas” in their wild array of military resources. Unfortunately, you got stripped of all your titles shortly after, since your body had the gall to get itself injured without permission, some things led to another and… thus, here you are again. More standardized testing, extra special for the disabled kid. Goddess bless discriminatory Alternian totalitarianism.

Ironically, you’re probably better equipped to pass the test _now_ than you were a few sweeps ago with two able legs. Doesn’t make this thing any less nerve wracking.

“Here’s the cool rules of how we’re going to school you!” says Latula, performing more of her weird slam poetry gestures. “Stand at attention, Vantas! You gotta know about all the sixteen ways we’re totally murdering your patoot!”

You glance over at Vriska, who gives you a thumbs up and a wink between her popcorn gorging. You know if her mouth wasn’t full she’d be calling you a ‘stallion’ or something inane. You wish she’d stop pity-hitting on you, on the list of ‘things that will never happen’ it’s emblazoned at number eight in big blue glowing letters.

You stand up, rest your hands on your sickles, and saunter over as casually as you can. This is hard to do when your walking pattern makes the weirdest left-foot-scrape-click right-heel-heavy-thunk noises against the tile. You end up a couple yards away from them in the big empty room. You stand in a square of red light, which you find poetically appropriate.

There's twelve sheer banners for the twelve blood colors hanging over the gargantuan glass ceiling, coloring the sunlight shining through. This results in far too many rainbows on the floor which remind you of your forever-dead moirail, which is definitely a great, morale boosting thing to think of before a life changing test. Fuckin' miracles. Fuckin’ depressing.

The Vantas red banner is the only one symbolically ripped down the center, because the empire is still collectively pissed at your magic-immune god body for getting itself crippled. At least you aren't Kankri, who the empire is pissed at just because he's inherently terrible.

Speaking of, you have no idea why they eased up on the piss-levels to allow you to test back into the elite knight taskforce. If you pass, you even get to regain the mid-tier title you held (Knight-Escheladder level "Scarlet Pimperknucklesandwich") before your little leg-related accident(s), no strings attached. Calling the whole thing "suspicious" is painting it white and putting it lightly. You figure Jade must have pulled some favors with her mom, Patrician Crocker of Porkmor-Kahn, just so you could take the test. You don't actually know, you haven't communicated with Jade in half a perigree.

If she did, you almost wish she hadn't, because you have to deal with these two fuckheads.

“Rules schmools!” Mituna yells. “Kill one of us or knock one of us out and you win! Vice versa and you lose! Mini-Mindfang is going to take care of the corpse-y business for the wins.”

“You better call Mindfang ‘Mega-Vriska’ on a regular basis for that nickname to make any sense at all,” Vriska shouts in a disgruntled, popcorn-stuffed tone.

"So like, we know you're immune to magic and all," Latula says, grinning like Terezi. "So it wouldn't be any fair if I aimed to wound, 'cuz you can't be healed! So Mituna, bumblebee?” Her voice grows dark, and you grip the handles of your sickles.“We're gonna hafta to aim to kill. Let’s begin the examination."

Mituna cackles, and begins to levitate, his hands lighting up in red and blue. You’ve seen enough wacky psiionic magic to know where this is going, so you’re not keen to stick around. You drop to your knee, slide back your opposite leg, and take off in a dead-set sprint towards Latula.

You have to do this fast, get ‘em quick with your sickles. If you get hit once, even once, you’re fucking dead. Not just from the pragmatic standpoint of ‘it’s actually easier to kill and resurrect Karkat Vantas than it is to wait six months for him to heal naturally’ but also because you just suck. You suck. Suck suck suck. You have such a low constitution stat that if a butterfly landed on your nose, one of your ribs would shatter.

You reach her, but she’s Knight Captain so of course she’s primed and ready for you. Her rapier is drawn, dragon’s head on the basket handle, and she jabs at you with a godawful, “En Garde!” You sidestep, duck, swipe at her, she parries, you tuck and aim with your other sickle. You are so close you can see your terrified reflection in her red glasses. You are face to face, neck to neck, with one of the best fighters in Alternia, and you can’t even hope to compare to- Ugh, fuck, don’t think about that. You can’t think about it, or you’ll shut down. You have to live in the _now_ , and every past and future iteration of yourself can deal with the consequences later.

You thought you’d be safe fighting Latula so close you can see the sparks fly off your metal, but apparently that assumption’s getting fucked thoroughly in the ass. You hear a couple hundred tiles detatch themselves from the floor behind you, and you can bet Mituna’s going to hurl them at you like discuses at a wizard fraternity party. You flit to the side and dodge another one of her rapier thrusts, then start booking it across the room.

Your gamble paid off, because you feel the whoosh of tiles behind you as you run. Latula yells, “Whoa, watch out, babe!” so you figure his ugly haircut isn’t doing any wonders for his aiming abilities. Latula’s heavy footsteps echo behind you, tiles whirr past your shoulders, and before you know it, you’re at the other end of the room. You hit the wall, use your momentum to push off, rotate, and face your attackers.

Mituna’s followed Latula, hovering over her like a ghostly lap dog. He stops tossing tiles at you so Latula can do some shitty flippy trick with her rapier and probably say some sort of vapid one liner.

“Aw, got you in a corner, little Kat?” she says. She brandishes her rapier, grinning. “Meet my sword, Curiosity.”

You blink a few times. "What? Was that supposed to be, fucking, 'curiosity killed the cat?' No, hell no, I am insulted, that was way too obtuse to possibly-”

Mituna interrupts you by trying to slam some tiles over your head, forcing you to block with both your sickles. You barely get your arms up fast enough, the wide flat of your blades shielding you from thin, shattered marble. You almost buckle under the impact. Your lower half is unguarded, Latula doesn’t miss a beat, and she attempts to slash across your waist. And if you were entirely flesh-and-blood, you would have lost right there and then. You would have literally been cut in half with her infinitely sharp Rapier of Bleeding +4.

Thankfully, part of you is titanium.

For every disadvantage your hook-shaped prosthetic comes with (everyone constantly staring so hard their eyes might pop in a burst of opaque yellow fluid, hard time with staircases, Vriska constantly hitting on you, _can’t fucking step backwards_ ), there’s an advantage that makes up for it. The particular advantage that comes in all sorts of handy at the moment is “Jade tricked out every inch of this shit.”

You swing your thigh up as though you were trying to roundhouse Latula in the head. Your prosthetic kicks up, out, backwards, like it’s on a hinge. It meets Latula’s sword before it can stick itself into your tender, tender waist. You twist your thigh, and the motion cascades down the rest of the prosthetic tenfold, entwining Latula’s arm and sword around the curve of it. You pull your leg back, and she staggers with, bent at the waist. She begins to say “Whoa! Radica-” as you bring down your sickle as hard as you can over her neck.

You slice her head clean off. It lands with a dull thud, bounces, her glasses fly off somewhere on the rebound. Teal spurts everywhere. Her body drops her sword and crumples down near her head. You regain your balance from your roundhouse kick-esque stunt with two cautious steps, trying not to faceplant into those cheerful dead Pyrope eyes.

You passed. You exhale for the first time in what feels like hours.

There’s a moment of silence, or as close to silence as possible with Vriska open-mouth chewing like she was hatched in a swamp, then Mituna wails. It’s the special sort of scream you hear when someone’s heart breaks, the sort of scream you’ve had passing affairs with. You hear his throat crack from how hoarse he screams. You'd cover your ears but your hands are covered in blood and there's no way you're wet willying yourself with this horrendous mess. Ugh, your outfit is going to have to be magically dry cleaned six times in a row and then burnt to be cleansed of all this highblood fluid.

"You killed my girl, you cock swallowing cunthole!” He tenses up in the air like he’s trying to eat his own foot. Do you look like that when _you_ tantrum? Fuck. “I'll eat your face off! Kill ya an fuck yer mouth till it dissolves!"

If you’re the fine wine of insults, Mituna is a distillery in a manure pit which produces an alcohol so strong you go blind for five minutes. As your comeback, you just blow your blood-sticky bangs out of your eyes. It makes a wet, sloppy noise against your forehead that's delightfully juvenile.

The air around him grows black, crackles like static. He glows red and blue, his bangs lifting from his forehead to reveal two blind eyes broken through with cracks like the bulbous side of a glued together teapot. Goddamn it, he's doing some final boss attack shit isn't he?

"Look, do you really want to do this?" you say, twirling your sickle over your wrist. "I mean, the necromancer is literally *right here,* just let her do her thing, your so-called 'girl' returns from the grave, declare me winner, and la-de-da I go home to my own so-called 'girl' with a shiny new ring for all my efforts. Is that really so hard? Is that really so fucking hard?"

"Yes! Fuck!" he screams, doubling over and pulling at his hair. "Fuck! She dies I die too! I go with, always, always, fucking always, Vantas!"

You'd almost feel bad if he wasn't a complete idiot without any sort of foresight or self-awareness. Like if Jade got killed in front of you, you would... uh… definitely do something slightly different. Slightly. Maybe. Alright, fuck, you feel guilty.

Mituna throws his head back, screams with a voice that sounds like he shot his vocal box through with a blunderbuss pellet, and aims everything he has at you. Idols of the Doom God appear in front of you, stylized black-green skulls with eyes that open into terrible voids, surrounding you in a ring of overly-macabre imagery. Beams of light, hundreds of thousands of deadly crackling lasers fire down around you in a loud cacophony of deadly.

Fortunately, you're immune to all magic. Nothing happens. The dust settles, and every tile around you in a ten foot radius is completely decimated, only the yellowish dirt unearthed by that gaudy light show remaining. There’s a hole blown through the wall behind you, which leads into possibly the most generic storage closet you’ve seen in your entire life.

Mituna stares dumbfounded when he's done with the attack, the air clearing from his little trick. You're feeling even more guilty so you decide to go light on him. You sheathe your sickles, approach him, grab his flying ankle, and tug him down to your level. Mituna gapes at you. You just clock him in the face.

It's like punching a pillow filled with marshmallows, and Mituna hits the ground like a sack of feathers. You don't observe the scene long enough to watch him throw a tantrum or whatever, and you point across the grand rainbow hall to Vriska, who is currently picking popcorn out of her fangs like a total barbarian.

"Get Latula back up so Mituna can have his security blanket or whatever she is to him," you say, your voice booming in the hall.

"Haha, that's so awful, you asshole," she says, setting her popcorn to the side. She gets up from the bleachers, nearly skipping over to where you and the bodies are. "You attractive, pitiable, legless, asshole."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "Stop trying, Vriska, it's still never happening."

She starts waving her hands around. Blue sparks begin to crackle along Latula's corpse. "Miss Starshine doesn't know how lucky she is. I bet her sweet human self won't even try to fill the role of a matesprit for you! Aren't you craving a good pity? Isn't there a void in your heart for some great pity fucking? The _best_ , even?"

"No void. Only platonic hatred for you."

Vriska gets close enough for her necromancy to take effect, and Latula’s dead white eyes blink a couple times. She laughs, teal blood trickling sideways out of her mouth, and her body raises an arm to give a thumbs up.

“Oh man, that was radical, Karkat!” her head says. Her body, sloshing blood everywhere like a disgusting parody of a slurry bucket, gets up on its hands and knees and starts trying to find the head. You gingerly step around her to stand by Vriska. “You pass with flying colors! How’s it feel to be a knight again?”

Amazing. Relieving. Like a burden has been lifted off your shoulders, like you never failed the Empire long, long ago. You can’t wait to officially proclaim yourself as Jade’s knight. You want a big commitment ceremony with metric fucktons of decorations and flowers and romance and- “Terrible,” you say. “Do you have my knighthood funtime club membership ring?”

Her body paps around for her head, finds it, and tucks it under her arm. She stands up, and you find it unnerving to make eye contact with a head at waist level, although you guess it’s your own damn fault for making this anatomical paradox possible in the first place.

“Sure do!” she says, digging in one of the pouches on her belt. She takes out your knighthood ring and tosses it to you. You catch it. “You sure you don’t want your old one? That thing was badass! The blood sigil over the gray Vantas… handcuffs… thing. The thing that if you rotate looks like a-” She pauses, trying to shift her head somewhere more convenient, can’t, and gives up. “Mituna, you okay, bumblebee? Will you air mandolin for me?”

“-69, dudes,” says Mituna from the floor, weakly air-mandolining. “’Tula, my pity, my sweet titted pity, I’m sorry, shoulda died with you, I failed, fucked up, fucked up fucked up fucked up-”

"Aw, bumblebee, who'd go through all the trouble of resurrecting me if you weren't around? C'mon, lets go get my head reattached."

Mituna skitters up in a hurry, then bounces off after his undead knight as they exit the dueling hall. Vriska rolls her eyes, then trails the couple, hands raised and flickering with blue necromancy to keep Latula sentient. You can tell from that dead look in her eyes she’s only doing this because it’s her job and John would probably skin her if she fucked up an escort mission. Metaphorically skin, that is, as the guy couldn’t hurt an ancient lich summoned from the eighth final hell if he were convinced of the incorrect fact that ancient evil liches had some redeemable feature about them. Although if any such lich existed, it would probably be Vriska.

You examine the ring. A plain band, with a silver moon and golden star jutting out on the front, big enough for someone who cared about seals to identify from a distance-- just how you wanted it. You slip it on your right hand ring finger. You are never taking this bulge wettingly awesome ring off, ever.

You make your way to the big double doors with the intent of finally packing all your shit, getting the hell out of the Knight Coalition, and beginning your probably epic, novel-length fantasy quest for Jade Harley. You’ve only gotten one letter from her, one _single_ letter from her in the perigree you’ve been here, which was a response to a seven page missive you sent pouring your feelings out about why she hasn’t communicated with you at all since she abandoned you in Porkmor-Kahn to try for your test. All she wrote back, in her cute-sy, swirly human language alphabet was:

_< Sorry! Not dead! Just reaaaaaaalllyyy busy! I'll tell you later! I love you bunches! Promise! - J  >  
_

You wrote her a couple more times, but she didn’t reply. You trust her far more deeply than you’d ever admit to anyone, and you can’t shake the belief that she actually _is_ busy and cannot write to you for some mystifying reason. That will not prevent you from chewing the fuck out of her when you get your hands on her. She can teleport, for gods’ sake, it shouldn’t have been difficult to visit once in a while. You miss her.

Before you can get out of rainbow hellhole hall and/or get unstuck from your thoughts, the double doors burst open. Future Condesce Feferi explodes through them like a cannon firing pink, bedazzled petunias. You haven’t talked to her in a while, but you’ve had passing contact with her a couple times due to the love of your life being in her inner royal posse.

“I’m here for Karkat’s- Oh, oh no, I missed it, didn’t I? Oh my cod, Jade’s gonna krill me!” says Feferi, stomping her foot and ruffling her shiny ballgown. “What was the best part? I need to give her a highlight reel.”

“I beheaded Latula? It was pretty badass,” says Karkat. “Wait, no, fuck that, that’s completely irrelevant. Do you mind explaining where the hell Jade is? I haven’t heard from her in half a perigree. If a series of six short sentences even counts as contact.”

“Codveniently, that’s another reason why I’m here!” says Feferi. She reaches out and grabs your hands, staring at you with big doe eyes through those goggles she insists on wearing.

"Jade's getting married!" squeals Feferi, like a stuck oinkbeast. "And we're gonna be < _maids of honor_ >! I'm gonna be Erifin's and you're gonna be Jade's."

You forgot she was engaged as part of some arraigned marriage bargain between Jade’s mother and the Condesce. You were never bothered by it --besides the fact Eridan’s a massive douchebag who tried to murder you once and then tripped over his own shoelaces and you never want to come in contact with his smelly, ugly face ever again-- because you honestly don’t know much about the human concept of ‘marriage.’ The closest equivalent you can think of is a quadrant-locking ceremony, but that has romantic context behind it. You’re pretty sure marriage doesn’t have anything to do with romance whatsoever. You’ve been to some troll/human weddings before, and it’s all about politics. Marriage, all about politics, yup. Definitely 100% positive on that front.

"< _Maid of honor >_... There is no possible way that's the right term for it. That doesn't seem like the correct gendered vocab word. And you know humans, they piss themselves sideways over genders."

"Who cares! We gotta get going!” she tugs on your arm, and you stumble after her. “It takes two whole weeks to get to by carriage, and the wedding date is approaching fast! We’ll be going to Skalligre, for that neat country seadweller aesthetic.”

She pulls you out of the double doors, into the hallway. She apparently isn’t bothered by the fact you’re still covered in various Latula fluids. “Hold on, you can’t take me to the Alternian boondocks, those pureblood fanatics will cull anyone with-”

“And we gotta get everyone else too! The entourage, and escorts and guards of course! But mostly the people riding in our carriage. Jane, shell be riding with us. Equius going to drive. And John will be with us too… And Vriska!”

An unbearable rage builds up in the back of your head, and you have to bite your knuckle to keep from screaming at the thought of spending two weeks in a cramped space with these buffoons. It doesn’t help. You make a sound like Jade’s dog did whenever it had a stomach ache.

Out of the frying pan.


	2. No Making Out in the Reading Room!

It’s not that you don’t want to see Jade ASAP, it’s just that you don’t want to perma-die in a horrible Alternian vengeance murder, scorched-earth style. You wouldn’t normally mind going to her cross-species wedding, but when that wedding happens to take place in the ancestral home of the “cull everyone who isn’t us, and _especially_ cull trolls with weird blood colors and/or disabilities” seadwellers, you really want to opt out. Feferi is not convinced as she drags you through hall after hall, into the palace.

“Feferi, how the hell am I going to survive even five seconds in Skalligre? My leg is akin to a sign draped around my neck that says, ‘cull me, highbloods, I’ll desecrate the gene pool otherwise!’”

“We’ll put you in a dress!”

“I can’t walk in dresses, you dumb shit. Does this hook-shaped grabby leg look like something that meshes well with drape-y pieces of fabric?”

“With a big long train!”

“Were you even listening?”

“Look, Karkat, sometimes a troll just wants to put another troll in a pretty dress, and that’s the way life works,” she pauses, then turns, holding your hand with an earnestness that makes you want to retch. “Don’t worry about it, seal-ly. I’ll take care of you! It’s going to be so. Much. FUN!”

You can’t tell if she’s talking about the wedding or the ‘taking care of you’ aspect. Either way, she’s wrong. But you’re too chicken-shit to outright refuse the future empress of Alternia. Or call her out on what appeared to be some god awful flushed flirting.

She shoves you into one of her private fancy-pants absolution blocks you are absolutely not authorized to be in and leaves you alone with her six thousand bath supplies. You decide to take a goddamn bubble bath. With the pink foam. You’ve earned it, you son of a bitch.

Melting into warm water like butter makes even _you_ feel less cranky, so you decide to dwell on pleasant things. Like Jade. Jade, Jade, Jade. This is probably the longest time you’ve spent away from her since fucking forever ago, since you lost your leg. 

You've been at her side almost constantly. You spent half a sweep happy and bored and in-love as you relearned how to walk. Relearned to run. The tricky part was relearning how to fight. How to dual wield again. You wouldn’t trust anybody but her to help you. You spent a lot of time practice fighting which generally ended in practice _makeouts_ because she let you win half of the time. Hard not to smooch her when you had her pressed against the ground with your covered blade at her neck and she was laughing like ringing bells. It took perigrees until you were anything near an even match to her long-range fuckery, and when you did finally beat her for real, there was certainly some passionate _close-range_ fuckery. Blood pumping, and and all that. You figured you were good enough to regain the title of knight once again, so you said goodbye at the gates of Porkmor-Khan a perigree ago, and that was that.

You can’t wait to see her in Skalligre. Sort of.

Skalligre, while technically an Alternian county full of rich hemo-hierarchy apologists, is home to a posh winter palace that shares the same name. When trolls say Skalligre, they think 'scandal, sex, excessiveness, and secretive royalty shenanigans.' Even though you are absolutely 100% certain you will not fall prey to any of these things, you still don't want to go to Skalligre.

Feferi is actually waiting for your just-cleaned ass, and gives you no leeway to turn and bolt out of there before she can drag you somewhere else. She drags you to the dorms to get your few possessions packed up. Apparently she wasn’t kidding when she said you had to ‘get going.’

You manage to take the time to pick up a gift for Jade from one of the blacksmiths, which you specifically requested for her. You hope she likes it. Feferi thinks it’s a-DOR-a-bubble. Yeah, Feferi is definitely flirting with you too, lumping her with Vriska in the category of ‘trolls who should really stop pitying your limb loss.’

You get shepherded into the spacious royal carriage before you can forge a complaint with the human/troll rights commissioner on your severe mistreatment. Your travel companions for the two week sardine-packed journey appear to consist of the stellar cast of Feferi, Jane, John, and Vriska. All of whom you want to hurl out the carriage windows five minutes into the journey.

"Let's play a travel game!" says Feferi.

Jane ducks her head further into her book. Jane is clearly the best one here.

"Yeah!" says John, in bad Alternian. He looks out the window. "I spy with my little looksphere... something on four legs, with hooves, and equestrian."

Feferi gasps like it was actually a challenge. "It's a stallion!"

"It's Karkat," says Vriska, licking her lips. She's sitting across from you and you can't look away. Looking at her is like watching a tragic accident slowly play out in front of you.

John groans. "Why do you even call him that? It makes literally no sense! Like at all!"

"Uh, yeah it does, your human brain just can't comprehend it," says Vriska. She looks back at you, and starts twirling her hair and biting her lip. "I'm going to tame that pathetic beast. Ride, pony, ride."

John makes a face like he just downed an entire glass of expired milk. Feferi slaps Vriska on the arm. You swear you can hear the coach driver begin to sweat. You’re pretty sure Jane can’t speak Alternian but is judging Vriska nonetheless. You go off the deep end.

You stand up too fast. You hit your head on the luggage rack. Feferi makes an empathetic peeping noise. You try to make this seem intentional by catching yourself on the wall across from you with your arms propping yourself up over Vriska. You look down at her. She shrinks in her seat, just barely.

"I cannot believe you are forcing me to launch into a lecture, but apparently you're some massive glutton for punishment. Good job on successfully developing that fetish, you win at getting dicked over," you say. You wish you could gesture more but you'd probably fall over without support. "Vriska Serket, I will never, ever, ever, in a barf bulging million sweeps of existence, fill my red quadrant with anyone. I know you think I’m the most pathetic creature to crawl my way out of the brooding caverns, but guess fucking what, *I* think I’m fantastic. I’m not some shitty under-confident troll-teen anymore, I’m better than that and I don’t deserve to be pitied. Not for me, not for a stupid leg. As for you in particular, I will never, ever, in a barf bulging _billion_ sweeps of existence, fill a single quadrant with you, not black or red or any other colors of the troll romance rainbow, you narcissistic smear of blue paint.” And just because you’re on an adrenaline-fueled roll, you lean in a little further. She leans back. “Besides, you wouldn’t be able to handle me. My bulge is _terrifying_.”

You're not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't that. There is the most satisfying abject terror in her freaky multi-irised eye when she realizes you aren't the pathetic grubslut she makes you out to be. You watch her attraction to you fade into the ether like a neglected ghost. She curls her lip. "Get away from me, weirdo! Gods, you're even worse than I imagined. You actually threw a tantrum over how pitiable you are! Wow, I’d sure hate to be you!"

She's trying to save face, and everyone in the carriage knows it. They're all staring at you, even Jane. Feferi looks dragged down by guilt. You don't say a word. You sit back down and pull a book of poetry from your bag.

You suppose you should thank her, because no one bothers you for the rest of the trip.

******

You're sleeping when you finally arrive because you resorted to napping to stave off boredom, which judging by how much you love insomnia and hate nightmares, demonstrates how awful the trip was. Jane shakes you awake, says, "< _We're here, >_" but when you look outside all you see is a blanket of gray.

When you step outside, it's still gray. It takes you longer than expected, and also the wind howling in your face, to realize it's snow lit bleakly by the windows of the palace. Figures. You're in the mountains, after all.

You're from a mild climate. It snowed in the winters but it didn't ever fucking _snow_. You've never seen weather this severe, like the heavens decided to open up and shake out their disgusting, dandruffy scalp during a tornado made of ice. You've thought you've seen blizzards, but no, you've only seen light tufts of powdery goodness, nothing akin to the shitstorm currently blowing your skin off.

You don’t stay outside for long, you’re manhandled through the entryway by Feferi’s entourage who have been here a million times and can apparently operate while blinded by blizzards. The entryway is jarring with how solid it is compared to the sheer, unidentifiable whiteness outside. The hall is massive and low, sprawling outward instead of upwards. Humans tend to make their grand entryways taller as opposed to longer, and you have to say, you missed that seemingly endless Alternian style of architecture. Makes you walk farther, but damn is it cool. 

The ceiling and columns are dark, dark brown wood, shined and oiled so much they glisten like Equius. Every intricately carved boxy swirl of the wooden column is perfectly aligned in straight rows of twelve, repeating on and on until the wooden back wall far in the distance. You begin the walk across it with Vriska “oooh-ing” and John “aaah-ing” and Jane looking a bit alarmed. Feferi strides like she owns the place. You suppose she does, in a way.

There’s a doorwoman that appears after you truck through the entryway fuckfest, all, “Let me guide you to your rooms” in a way that makes Equius visibly jealous from how this woman happens to be out competing him in properness. Since this is essentially a resort, you actually get some privacy with a single room, and don’t have to share it with the bumbling Alternian/Earthen royal family conglomerate. It’s a small room, probably meant for a violet blood’s servant’s servant’s coach driver, but you would have killed for a _closet_ as long as it was Vriska-free.

You’re too cowardly to step out and venture for Jade on your own. Not without the custodian-like hand of Feferi, swatting off any attempts to cull you if someone happens to see your prosthetic, or decide your irises are maybe a little *too* red. Besides, the room is warm, sort of, and you want to stay here and stretch out forever. Northern seadwellers use underfloor smoke heating powered by some mysterious gaseous furnace in the bowels of the palace, which means that everything is really fucking cold except the ball of your foot. But god _damn_ is that ball warm. 

Underfloor heating has the side effect of the whole place having zero rugs. All the floors are made of overly grandiose stone-and-pearlwork that look like the calming tides of an ocean for maximum heat dispersal. Fortunately, Feferi thought to cover the foot of your prosthetic with a shit-ton of felt so no one would turn and stare at the one-man-percussion freak show. You do sort of sound like a ghost with a peg leg, but hopefully no one notices.

She also compromised on your apparel for this trip. You’re not in a dress, just a skirt that hides your prosthetic surprisingly well. It’s a wraparound that goes down to the floor, with a long slit up your right side so your able leg gets maximum wiggle room in case you need to run for your life in enemy territory. You also have trousers (thankfully you’re not naked as a grub underneath) and a green, high collared shirt in your favorite cut; a shirt in Jade’s color.

It isn’t long before John opens your door.

“< _Hey, Karkat! >_” he says in Common, because Egbert is disgustingly human-centric that way. He leans against the frame of the door, clad in his blue, prince-ly ‘I swear I have military power, guys, and also my mom is making me wear this’ uniform. “< _I’ve come to pick you up for the primary school dance. >_”

You smack your face with your hand and bemoan all your life choices, because Jade probably would have made the same awful joke. There is a terrible alternate universe out there where you fell for John instead of her, and it’s assuredly the worst.

It’s less a dance and more of a ‘cocktail party in one of the lounges.’ Although all troll parties are like this. There’s less dancing and more… murder. This one is more relaxed than the usual fare, clearly a spontaneous casual evening event, so you figure there will only be one attempted poisoning. Maybe someone will get stabbed? You don’t want to get stabbed. Please don’t let it be you, let it be someone else for once.

The lounge is one of those fake-y fake gimmick libraries, the ones where if you grab a book off the shelf it’s just pages and pages of the kind of garbage literature with fancy book bindings you get for free from the trashcan. The walls are lined with shelves in that same dark oak, the chairs soft and muted and look like they should be next to the fireplace, and the room almost entirely filled with high hemospectrum trolls drinking brightly colored cocktails in diamond glasses. It’s dim, lit only by covered candles on the intimate tables scattered throughout the lounge. Some trolls sit, some stand, all talk hushed and quiet, as though to get the full library roleplay experience. You see a lot of sea dwellers, some subjugglators, and a couple jade blooded matrons. 

You grab a book off the shelf, just to see if you can distract yourself from your impending doom. It’s a coloring book about necromancy. Nope.

John fucking ditches you, some date he is, to go find Vriska, and you’re stuck at the edge of the room like a terrified wallflower. You decide it’s best not to navigate the party alone, lest someone accidentally raise your skirt or become romantically attached to you and look deep into your eyes, and you decide to sit in a highbacked chair in the corner. John assured you Jade would be here, and it’s only a matter of time before she comes looking for you. You hope. Unless if she’s given up, which is entirely possible considering-

You see her, across the room. She _is_ looking for you.

She’s really bad at navigating crowds. Inordinately bad. You watch her try to slide between two partygoers, completely overestimate how dexterous she is, and then shoulder check the both of them. You’d facepalm but you don’t want to look away from her. Your heart swells ten sizes as you watch her bumble through a bunch of trolls like a lost puppy. You wave until she sees you. Her face is so stressed and worried until she meets your eyes, still across the room, and waves back with a sudden smile and bounce. She’s wearing an Eridan-colored evening gown that’s about twice the size of you, and she doesn’t care who she bowls over with it as she makes her way through the crowd.

"< _Hey moon and stars, >_" you say in her language, as she draws near. You try to make this all suave and whatnot but fail spectacularly because you are just too fucking hyped to hold her again. You start to get up. "< _Long time no- >_ What the fuck."

You are immediately thrown back. She hurls herself onto your lap, giggling, scrambling to push her dress down and get her legs over the chair so she can sling her arms around your neck and smash her face against yours.

You, of course, try to pepper her with kisses. You find her teeth instead. “Close your mouth so I can kiss you, tartlet!” you sputter.

“I can’t, I’m too happy!” she laughs, a smile so big you’re afraid it’ll be stuck there forever. “Okay, okay, let me calm down and try, mmmm-” She puckers her lips comically, but before you can even try to humor her, she begins laughing again. “< _Karkat, I can’t, I have too many feelings and have a severe smiling disease! Doctor, please, help, or I’ll die! >_”

“< _Thankfully I’ve got a prescription for your terminal illness. >_” You take her face in your hand, push her cheeks together with your thumb and middle finger, and kiss her adorable fish face.

She doesn’t keep it up for long, thank goddess, and it’s mere seconds before you’re having a proper lip locking. The romantic stuff, the stuff of legends, the kind of stuff that’s soft and warm and sweet and filled with that passionate nostalgia that comes with meeting after spending too long apart. Sometimes you doubt yourself, that you know what the human feeling called ‘love’ is, but it’s moments like this that remind you. There is nothing comparable to her.

Nothing comparable to sloppy makeouts, either. Fuck yeah.

It is too little time before she pulls away. She keeps her face so close to yours you can’t see her expression. “< _We can’t make out in public, >_” she whispers. “< _I’m getting married. >_”

“< _So? Who cares? >_” you say. “< _Weddings are just a fancy way of saying your vast tracts of land belong to the dominant party or something. Treaties and shit. Nobody’s going to care you’re publicly making out with me on a chair. >_”

Jade pulls away, blinks at you, then narrows her eyes. “< _Uh, Karkat? I don’t think you know what… Well, weddings are usually supposed to have… romantic connotations? For humans? And even if everybody sort of knows I don’t really love Eridan, like at all, it’s not in proper form to… um… publicly make out with you on a chair only a couple days before I’m getting married. >_”

“I’m calling bullshit, I definitely would have heard if human weddings were supposed to involve romance. And since when did you care what stuffy court assholes think about us?”

“Since, I- ugh-” She sighs, then pulls herself away from you, standing up. You let her go with a great pain. She leans over you, and holds your hands. “< _Let’s go somewhere private. Gameplan: we can sneak away to my bedroom, and snuggle under my blankets and try talking about all this stuff, get distracted, have lots of elaborate sex, and then actually talk about all this stuff. I’ve got a lot to explain. >_”

Right, you’re sort of mad at her. “Especially the part where you barely tried to contact me for a whole fucking perigree? That’s a big stain on your record.”

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” she says, biting her lip. “< _Will that throw a wrench in the gameplan? >_”

“< _Please. I’ll pail you as soft as the snow outside. >_” You raise your hands to her cheeks, stroke back a strand of hair with your thumb. “And besides, I’m not so pissed as to throw you by the wayside. I’ve got a gift to give you.”

“Oh? < _Wait… Actually, the snow outside is pretty hard, but I wouldn’t mind that eith- >_”

“Stop touchin’ my wife!”

Jade groans, takes a second to compose herself, and steps away and aside so you can see Eridan Ampora, bane of your fucking existence. He’s standing there with his arms folded, in his stupid military garb, judging you for a crime you did not commit.

“Ugh, go away,” says Jade. “Let’s just agree to have as little contact as possible throughout this whole thing, okay!?”

“I’m not here for you,” he replies. He points at you. “I’m here for him. I wanna speak to him privately, where there ain’t any unwanted ears or fins listenin’ in on our secrets.”

“You have secrets?” says Jade. 

“Is this your sad attempt to lure me somewhere alone so you can try to cull me, purify the bloodline, or what fucking ever?” you say. You stand up to glare him down. “Because I’ve still not forgotten the time you attempted to spur on my public execution, and then I creamed your ass in a hilarious spectacle that still plagues the gossip circles. You’re not getting me anywhere.”

“No, you got me bested there. I’m a sensible, humble, kind soul who’s not afraid to admit that,” he says. You try to say “what the fuck,” but he talks over you. “This is way more important than that, Kar’, way more important than anythin’ else you could be doing at his moment in time. I need to talk about my feelings.”

You look at Jade. She appears shellshocked and shrugs at you. “Uh, no,” you say. “No.”

Eridan leans forward, pointing at you like he’s going to poke you in the eye. “Come with me or I cause a scene. And you know how good I am at causin’ scenes? I’m the _best_.”

It’s a bit late for that, you realize, as you see that behind Eridan everyone in a ten foot radius is either giggling or staring. You suppose the belle of this party did just bludgeon her way through a crowd to tongue-kiss you, trailed by her over-dramatic co-star. The last thing you need is more attention. You take a moment to tug at your hair out of desperation, inhale deeply, then say,

“Fine, fine, you win. And where, Ampora, are we going to have this forced feelings-jam fuckery?”


	3. "Gods, I hate being a troll"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!!! IMPORTANT !!!**
> 
> Dick physics in this story (for the new readers):  
> -All trolls have bulges, no nooks.  
> -But they are generally pretty wimpy and feel like, quoth Jade, "socks filled with jelly"  
> -Except Karkat's. His is SWOLE and LARGE  
> -This is because he has severe nerve damage under the waist, and has to have tons o' muscle control to feel anything  
> -Coincidentally, most of his turn-ons are mental  
> -Also pheromones are a thing

The answer to that is inside a greenhouse. A greenhouse in the mountains. The slave labor required to sweep the snow off of this thing daily must be astronomically high in the body count area.

The hanging lanterns flick on as Eridan strides ahead, cape swooshing against bushes and flowers. The greenhouse contains tropical plants, the kind that come in bright colors so the royal Alternian botanists can manipulate and cut them for traditional troll flower arrangement. Or possibly poison people with. But you’re pretty sure this is not an assassination-related greenhouse. At least you hope so, a fern just hit you in the mouth and you’re fucking dead if that thing is poisonous.

“My apologies for the weird setting, knight, it was the nearest place we could be alone,” he halts near the corner of the greenhouse, where the plants open up to offer a stunning window view of… a whole lot of snow. Eridan whips around. “Also, why the fuck do you sound like a ghost with a peg leg when you walk around?”

You take a step back, panicking despite yourself. "Why do you sound like a ghost with _two_ peg legs, huh!? Riddle me that!"

"And didn't you have a cane the last time we met?" he asks, narrowing his eyes and leaning in. "Something, Kar', is mighty fishy with you."

You almost throw your arm out with all your gesturing. "Nothing is fishy! Nothing at all! Everything is perfectly, wonderfully, fine and not in the least bit aquatic, unlike your-"

"Naw, I'm just fuckin' with you. Vriska told me about your fake leg."

You’re going to murder her.

“Anyway let’s put that all behind us for now, the past is past or whatever,” says Eridan, flopping his hand about as though he were trying to wipe away his sins. “Let’s focus on what really matters: my feelings.”

You drag your fingers down your cheeks so your bottom eyelids stretch out while you make elaborate gagging noises. Eridan powers through your displeasure.

“Specifically the feelings towards Jade, I mean,” he says. “Since we’re gettin’ married and all. Like, I was good and ready to accept a kismessitude with her straight outta the romance novels, or maybe even pity the pants off of her, but then I learn that humans have this concept called < _love_ > which is just so fuckin’ inferior to troll romance in every way, shape, and form. But apparently I gotta love her to marry her. How do I do that? Tell me how.”

You have not ceased making gagging noises. You only stop gagging because you have to tell Eridan he’s wrong about romance. “Eridan, I don’t know who the fuck told you otherwise, but human marriages aren’t about love. They are literally, exclusively, about property management. Like who owns your land and whatever. Who told you this vile lie?”

“Jade did,” he says, crossing his arms and smiling. “Then she punched me.” 

You’re taken aback. You’re not sure why Jade would say something like that. “Excuse me?”

“So, since you’re the resident expert on humankind, I’m wondering if I can swap out those weird human feelin’s for a normal, natural, gods-given matespritship? Would that be okay for a marriage?” he says, totally ignoring your request for clarification. “I mean, she's totally single. It’s not like you’re reciprocating her massive pity-crush on you, ya freak.”

Jade doesn't pity you, not in the least. You're sure of it. You immediately take one step forward, battle stance, in case if you have to punch him for being a total fucking idiot. “Eridan, I am going to have to punch you for being a total fucking idiot if you keep riding that train of thought.”

“C’mon, what’s so bad about it? It’s a compliment!” He looks you up and down, then gestures at you, helplessly, like he’s trying to show off a prized stallion. “You’re an attractive guy. Sad life, sad blood color, sad backstory, sad leg. Real pitiable. Not my fault you’re not acting on her totally available for the claiming quadrant. Not like there’s a lack of stuff to pity about her either.”

You’ve heard the ‘you’re pity-bait for being disabled’ thing too many times to count, but Jade Harley is a new one. You hate yourself for being curious. You take a full step forward, stare him down, and ask in an intensely unfriendly way, “Like what?”

“I, uh,” he takes a step back. You take another step forward. You watch him have a brief flashback of the time you knocked him out cold in the middle of a ballroom. “Like, I mean, she’s just like, _following you around._ It’s fuckin’ pathetic, her lookin’ up at you with those big brown doe eyes-”

“Green.”

Another couple steps forward and he’s trapped in the corner of the greenhouse, his arms pressing against the panels of glass. You swear you see a bead of sweat drip down his temple. You also swear you catch the scent of his pheromones, but maybe it’s just some exotic, salty flower. There is no fucking way anyone rational could be turned on by this mess.

“-and you don’t even pity her back! So sad. She told me you don’t pity her at all, and how could you not? Especially _you_ , I mean, from what I heard from the gossip sphere you fucked with her real good.”

You plant your hands on either side of him so he has a zero chance of escape, in a position where you could easily headbutt him through the glass. You start to doubt Eridan’s rationality as the smell gets stronger. You hate it. Also, the angle of his neck is alarmingly alluring, you kind of want to sink your teeth in it. A real proper bite, not something you can do with Jade’s soft skin, something that hurts.

You’re distracted by his jugular so he keeps talking. “Did you forget what she did to you? Made you trek across the field, die a billion fuckin’ times, made ya sacrifice a lot for her. She prolly hates herself for what she did to you. Depressin' stuff. Makes me flushed for her." He grins, needle sharp seadweller teeth. "Rumor mill says she's the one who chopped your leg off."

That one gets to you. Makes your heart pump with adrenaline and your ears hammer with blood. You jolt and before you know it you're raising him to your height against the glass by his neck, hissing "Too *fucking* far, Eridan."

"Did I hit some kinda nerve?" he says, not looking as nervous as you want from the grip you've got on his windpipe. "Probably true then, right? The guy who's life she de-valued, the guy who’s life she ruined, hanging around her all the time, reminding her she's real fuckin’ pitiful. She prolly has some kinda... PTSD thing going on. She probably needs some real red sympathy from somebody who ain’t you."

You’re so flabbergasted at how bizarrely incorrect he is you can barely manage to choke out, "Could you get any more wrong about anything!?” He's got this stupid smirk on that's only getting bigger and you want to wipe it off him. Also you're at least 50% sure he's into choking at this point in time because he _definitely_ smells like sex. Smirk gets bigger. Pheromones get stronger. Oh, fuck, raise that to 80%. You suddenly want to wipe that smirk off his face _with your bulge._ All your adrenaline is directed towards one particular biological process. You swallow, audibly, despite yourself.

"Don't you just wanna..." he says, lifting his hand so he can trail his nails along your wrist. You bite your lip. "... let her be pitied? She'd love that, I'm sure. C'mon, Kar, let me touch her. Flush. Just once, maybe, on our wedding night. Unless if she can't get enough of me, which I gotta admit is a likely possibility. Then it might be more than once."

You are coldly aware that Jade would in no way let him do that to her but it still gets your goat anyway. The mental image of Eridan Ampora softly fucking her as they spoon in her bridal bed is a combination of infuriating, disgusting, and _extremely arousing_. That's the kind of taboo cross-quadrant squick that turns you on, much as you don’t want it to. You’d want to be there for it, want to rip him off her and deck him in the face, then pop a troll boner from the adrenaline and have the weirdest sloppy seconds in the history of time. You’re not sure which one you’d even have the sloppy seconds with. Holy shit that’s fucked up.

You are aware your face is flushing at boiling point. “No,” you say, stuttering. “No, you’re not going to touch her without her consent.”

“What kinda piece of shit do you take me for?” he says. “She’d definitely want me of her own free will. I’d provide a sense of emotional comfort that she’s not gettin’ from you. Lots of tearful moments, lots of pity, let me tell you. Also, I’d comfort her with my dick. It’s long and… wiggly? Yeah, so hot.”

That spooning image slams back into your head like a gunshot. Eridan. Jade. Large bed. Nudity. Grinding. Fluids. Kissing. Frotting. *Frotting.* _Frotting_. Wait, scratch that, Jade doesn’t have anything to frot with, that’s you. Image is replaced with you slamming Ampora into the mattress and making him deepthroat you because he can breathe out of his gills anyway.

You get the vague feeling of your bulge coiling out of your sheath. Your eyesight gets foggy. The back of your neck gets all tingly as you start to react to Eridan’s -ugh- mating scent. You forgot how weird that was. Why are trolls so weird, this is just ridiculous. Seriously, humans have it so well off without shitty scent gland related biological reactions.

You push your body up close to him, chest to chest, because you’re apparently ashamed of him viewing your massive writhing boner and this somehow makes it better. He tilts his head like he’s going to receive a kiss, but ha, fuck him. You slide your hand up to his jaw to _make_ him look at you.

“I can guarantee whatever you’re packing down there isn’t going to satisfy a human any way you look at it, especially not Jade,” you say, trying to give a sneer. It’s hard because your loins are tenderly touching his loins through a few layers of fancy cloth and you’re just about to the point of begging.

“It’s enough to satisfy a troll,” he replies, and he’s got a blush to match your own. “Y-y-you’d better… better back off, Kar. Before, we, uh, do somethin’.”

“I can’t step backwards,” you blurt out, stupidly. He's turned on which means you're turned on by proxy and the whole thing is clearly going to devolve into some kind of pitch pailing session any moment now so you might as well ride it out. What did Jade say about your quadrant availability again? 'Make sure they're hot!' she said, while poorly winking and double pistoling at you. You then asked if she was serious or joking and she said serious while mouthing the word ‘threesome,’ but if that’s what she was after then she is going to be sorely disappointed in your rushed choice of one-night-kismesis-stands. Whoops.

“Since I can’t leave, I guess I’ll, uh- something something seedy erotic pickup line. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck everything-” you say, then tilt his chin and force him into a kiss.

Open mouthed. Tongue and teeth. Classic pitch. He grabs your collar, you bite his lip. Pheromones that taste like salt and savory flood into your mouth and dear FUCK you’re _so_ into this.

You love Jade. You couldn’t be happier with her. You would be 110% monogamous with her until your dying day if she told you to. But with Jade you don’t get that species-centric desire to just fucking _breed_. You want to fill a bucket with this guy. You want to pave the way for progeny. You want to dump your purple/red sex mix in the maw of a mother grub. You want to get that mother grub _so_ fucking pregnant. You want to have horrible slurry spawn of yours pop from her arachnid loins one day and know that at this moment at least 25% of their genetic makeup was conceived out of _pure, spontaneous hatred_. It’s a literal miracle you don’t come right now from how hot those mental images are.

You go for his fly immediately, unbuttoning it like you’re ripping apart tissue paper. Eridan claws down your neck, probably makes you bleed, makes you more frustrated and horny and fuck- can these buttons get any more slippery? 

His bulge coils out, you don’t bother looking at it or examining the texture, but you feel the cool slick of seadweller pre-slurry mash itself to your wrist. You bite Eridan’s gill behind his ear-fin thing, mash your skirt out of the way, unbutton your own fly, and let your bulge seek his own out. You let nature take its course.

Okay, you don’t _let_ let nature take its course, because you could do some real damage to him if you’re not careful. You’re a deadly combination of ‘can barely feel anything down there’ and ‘swole as fuck.’ You’ve got no idea how fragile he is, all you can feel is the warm thrum of his bulge knotting with yours. You let him do all the work, twisting the both of them together like the threads on a rope. Gentle. Gentle. Do not chicken choke the genitalia with your own genitalia. 

Thankfully, Eridan doesn’t look down-slash-notice how freaky your junk is. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and sighs back into the wall, like you’ve suddenly swapped quadrants. You hold his waist, try to focus on *not* forming bruises on his crotch as you knot some of those hormones away. “God, Kar, you feel good. I thought you’d be crippled downstairs too but guess you always had an extra leg to replace your missing one.”

“I _will_ kill you when we’re done here,” you hiss into his throat. You bite it hard, so your teeth sink in and Eridan makes a frustrated howling noise that grates on your ears.

You neck the shit out of him. You are fucking incredible at necking. He makes a lot of noises that make you want to slap him but instead you just rock your hips a bit more vigorously. You don’t feel as much as you used to down there, but it’s just enough to put an effort into. You feel warm everywhere under your waist, no specific point. You can feel your muscles tighten and contract and you know your body’s enjoying it which triggers some base mental reaction that amplifies the whole process. It’s comparable to getting in an oven, like your lower half is getting baked from the inside out. Except the oven is sexy? This is the reason why you don’t explain your sexual feelings to people. 

Apparently your erotic musings caused your bulge to tighten, because Eridan winces. Shit shit shit.

“Do we need a safe word?” says Eridan. “I demand a safe word, that fuckin’ hurt.”

“The safe word is ‘stop whining.’”

“That’s two words.”

You make a noise like "auuughghnnngn" because it's really the only series of mouth flaps which can accurately describe the blood pounding combination of how frustrated/turned on you are. "Eridan, I say this without any affection, whatsoever. I mean this," you say, your voice coming out as tense as the rest of you. "You are absolutely-" You pull off your glove with your teeth, spit it out onto the ground. "-the *worst* lay-" You wrap your hand around your entangled bulges, start stroking. "-I have ever had."

Eridan grins, stupidly. His glasses are askew. "C'mon, Kar, you can't say that, we're not even lyin’ down."

You put your mouth on his just to make him stop this madness. He kisses like he’s underwater and you’re giving him an air supply. It’s real fucking sloppy, and you reciprocate likewise because fuck it. There’s that kind of open mouth tongue touching that feels great and carnal but repels anyone in a hundred foot radius sheerly from how disgustingly PDA it is. More PDA than your bulges openly entwining, even.

Your bulge can’t feel your own hand, but Eridan's sure can. You’ve got an arm supporting his waist, and you feel his spine shudder with every stroke. Shit’s hot, having control of him like that, so you speed up the pace. Eridan tightens his grip on your shoulder and the back of your head and moves you closer until you’re full-on embracing. 

Eridan ducks away to beg, “Please Kar, I’m real close.” You ignore him, wrangle him back to where he was, and keep going the same speed.

The last troll you pailed was Terezi Pyrope, over a sweep ago. Your pity sex was usually a scheduled, multi-hour affair with at least one drawn out roleplay, two erotic puzzles, and four ‘battles to the death’ which involved a dragon made of driftwood. While the arousal level of those events was… debatable… the orgasm at the end was enough to make it all worth it. Since your nerves are shot, your climax is all based on how into it your brain is at the time. And you have to be *really* into it, like, consumed by the thought of comeing, transform yourself into a temporary feral fucking addict bent on taking someone into your arms and humping the shit out of them. Terezi always knew how to get that out of you. Even with a driftwood dragon.

Quickies weren’t fun with her. She liked them, but you didn’t, because the ins and outs of troll mating made you come when you weren’t ready for it. Always sounds fun in theory, but mostly sucks ass. It makes the most biological sense to orgasm at the same time as your partner when you need two ingredients to make a slurry bucket. There’s also the very real threat of one of the participants ripping the other to shreds immediately after the act. Therefore, whenever she came and your bulges were knotted together, you also did, even if you didn't want to.

This all suddenly becomes relevant to your life again when Eridan yells, “I’m coming!”directly into your ear, and you can barely get the ‘H’ out in ‘Hold on, you dingbat!’ before he’s doing exactly what he said he would.

You’re yanked along for the ride. It’s so bizarre to go through the motions without your mind coming along with it. You tense up everywhere, feel your bulge getting hot, your hand spasms around it. You hear slurry drip onto the floor.

"D-d-d-," says Eridan, stuttering on a letter that isn't a w for once. "Don't stain my outfit."

You really want to press in to spite him, but that would mean you also get stained by the multicolored waterfall of orgasmia flowing between you. You manage to lean away a bit, rest your head on his collarbone, hold onto his shoulders with one hand and hold away your skirt with the other. Your muscles all relax and melt as your bulge begins to pump out your freaky red genetic material. At least you get the post-sex satisfaction with this, even if it’s a below average orgasm. You kiss Eridan’s neck, despite yourself. His pheromones smell like seaweed. It is not an attractive smell.

The first thing you say once the muscle contractions subside is, "Gods, I hate being a troll."

“I don’t,” says Eridan, who is actually giddy. You push yourself off Eridan so you can take a step back with your abled leg, then drag the other one back with support from the glass. Eridan stares at your bulge, horrified.

“Did I just fuck _that?_ ” says Eridan. At a loss for words, he repeats, pathetically, “ _That!?_ ”

Your bulge starts to sheathe itself, and you do some fancy clothing related maneuvers to avoid getting slurry everywhere. “Yup.”

“Why the fuck-” Eridan chokes, clamoring back against the wall like you’re in the process of mugging him. “-is your cock so fuckin’ _thick_?”

You take a moment to rub your temples. Woe be it unto you, you well endowed motherfucker. “Don’t tell me you lost all your nerve.”

“My nerve has fuckin’ flew the coop. Swam straight into the fuckin’ ocean,” he says, trying to escape by attempting to ooze into the wall. “My nerve came and went.” 

“Yeah, way too early,” you say, despite internally wanting to stab yourself for making the worst ‘cum’ pun in the history of time. Eridan relaxes once you hide your gargantuan, disgusting, tentacle genitalia from the public eye. You glance down at the puddle of genetic material between the two of you. You run your hand down your face in horrible, horrible regret. “How are we going to clean that up?”

“Relax, I know a spell,” he whips out his wand from somewhere you don’t want to think about.

“Ampora, I don’t know how to break it to you, but my slurry is immune to magic.”

“Well, shit,” he says. He stares down at the half purple, half red puddle, thinking very hard about it. “What if we… mix it together?”

“What the fuck?”

“See, look. Watch me do science. Chemistry and all that,” he waves his wand. In a sequence that is probably somehow, somewhere, considered pornography, Eridan’s slurry slowly mixes with yours like a softcore tornado. The end result is a dark pink. He flicks his wand and the amalgamation painstakingly scoots off the path towards the dirt. Really slowly, molasses slow. Two minutes pass.

“This is usually way faster, I blame your inferior genetics,” says Eridan. “You think it’s okay we leave it under the plants? Don’t wanna kill any of 'em.”

“Yeah, slurry makes a great fertilizer.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

You think about how to answer this. “I had sex in a garden.”

Ten minutes and one incredibly awkward goodbye later, you’ve found Jade in the lounge once again. You pull her away from a random jadeblood, take her hand, and lead her to a corner. You stare deep into her eyes (which are not in the least fucking doe-like, they’re more like green forges, fire when you throw copper into it) that you love in a way Eridan could never ever understand, and say very seriously,

“Jade I just had a terrible black fling.”

She gasps, and her eyes begin to sparkle. "< _Does this mean we get to have the long awaited auspice threesome with me as the middle leaf in the attractive hate sandwich? Do they look like you? Oh my goddess, is Kankri on the guest list!?_ >" She crosses her fingers. “Please be Kankri, please be Kankri…”

"< _Is that some kind of fucked up pailing goal of yours? I mean, not like my pailing goals are any less fucked up but- Uh, anyway, no, it doesn't mean that, because your human junk is going to literally detach itself and run screaming down the hall when I tell you who it was._ >" You pause for the appropriate length of time to collect yourself so you won't collapse in shame. You manage to do the impossible and lower your voice when you say, "Ampora."

Her face goes through a wild and wacky range of emotions before it settles on the kind of expression you used when watching Mituna and Latula comedy hour a fortnight ago. "Ew!" she says. "No! Gross! Why."

"I don't know, he insulted you and I choked him and then hate-y troll boners got in the way," you say. A couple stuffy bluebloods around you almost spit out their drinks. You switch back to Common. "< _I regret it already. I'd even go so far as to blame it on my hormonal past self, just to bring back some old tweengrub character traits of mine for nostalgia's sake. Anyway, I can assure you it was a one-time one-dance stand, and won't be a possibility for an incredibly revolting auspice sandwich._ >”

She folds her arms. “Karkat, we are going to have to have a talk about this when I-”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A chill wracks your spine, and you freeze like a deer in the torchlights. "Jade?" you interrupt. "< _Did you just get the feeling we're being watched?_ >"

She frowns. "< _No?_ >"

You look around the lounge.

You don't get noticed in large crowds as 'that guy who's immune to magic'-- the other Vantas tends to get that treatment more than you, and that's one of the many reasons why he's a shut-in inside a stupid mystical monastery. Also, like, everyone in Alternia thinks you died defending them from a bunch of literal rabid clowns, so there's that. Besides your friends and select acquaintances, not many people would point across a room and yell, 'hey, it's that seemingly overpowered mutant ex-midlister-celebrity that got crippled! Let's get our tits signed by him!' Or alternatively, 'hey, it's that seemingly overpowered mutant who we thought died for good reason! He was supposed to be some kind of cool OP general in the Alternian military! Let's kill him!" Most of that latter group thankfully doesn't know who you are. However, there is one member of the grudge-cull group, and only one, who would recognize you on sight.

The Condesce looks you dead in the eye from across the room.


	4. Death's a Bitch

You can almost hear her muscles tighten over the crowd. She shoves Feferi out of the way so hard it looks like her massive hand is going to ram itself through the mini-empress' collarbone. With what little dignity you can muster, you shriek, turn, and run.

You hear Jade yell, “Wait, where are you going!?” 

You can’t answer because you are already shouldering your way to the exit and rapidly going through your options. You absolutely cannot, *can*-*not,* fight the Condesce. You pale in comparison to everything about her, and even if you managed to wound her you’d have all of trollkind after your head-- teeth barred and disproportionate fantasy swords at the ready. You will also never, ever, ever put Jade in that same danger, so you cannot ask her for help with this death machine.

You push through the dark wooden doors and bolt down the hallway. Thank the gods you know where this thing leads due to the earlier snafu with Eridan. There’s a slight green static in the air that you are well-familiar with by now, and Jade teleports in front of you. And then passes by on the right, because no way are you fucking stopping.

“Karkat!” she yells after you. “What’s-”

You hear both doors slam open against the wall with the force of an angry gale, far behind you. Jade says, “Oh.” The hair on your neck stands on end as you basically drift-slide around another corner, sprinting as fast as you can along the inner wall made entirely of paper windows. You’re too stuffed with adrenaline to think rationally, but even if you still had all your marbles you’re pretty sure there is no possible out to this. You can only hope that your death is not overly painful, drawn out, involves torture, involves freaky slurry-related torture, or isn’t permanent. Oh, goddesses, please don’t let it be permanent.

Jade teleports far up ahead of you, against the wall where you have to turn again. She waves, almost as panicked as you. "I'll go back and try to stop her!"

“Wait, Jade,” you pant. You know that's a bad idea, but Jade's vanished in an eye-wrenchingly painful bright green mist before you can tell her so. You’re usually backing up your powerhouse witch no matter the challenge, but you think she might be outmatched here. You’re not positive why you came to that conclusion. Sure, the Condesce is gargantuan, muscular, deadly, and has a hairdo that could smother a large colony of mice, but so does Jade. So why doubt her?

Oh, right. Because the Condecse has animal mind control. Stole the powers from some druid rustblood. Does a quarter-werewolf count as part animal? Even worse, does that logic do a wraparound and mean you're some kind of depraved dog fucker?

You can’t keep running forever, and you figure you have some time to try and hide. You skid to a stop, slide open a paper door decked out in a purple fish painting, and shut it behind you. Because your luck is so pitiful it deserves a nice matesprit, the room lacks any hiding spots. It’s empty, surrounded by fancy paper murals, probably used for storage or entertainment. You walk to the middle of the room, sweating bullets, affirming your state of ‘completely fucked over.’ There’s a crackle of static directly behind you.

You are confirmed to be a depraved dog fucker when Jade teleports in with the pink mark of the Condesce on her forehead.

When you look into her eyes you don't see any spark of Jade. Her eyebrows are flat, eyelids half open, emoting ‘I’m pissed off’ loud and clear. Well, oh-fucking-kay, you papped her out of her grimbarkness once, long ago, who’s to say you can’t pap her out of a different form of mind control? This is a test of your (disgustingly rusty) mettle.

You try to look relaxed and casual, like you’re picking her up for a date, but you probably fail because you’re so anxious. If she’s here, the Condesce isn’t far behind. “Hey, moon and stars,” you say, trying to keep your voice down. “Here we are again, huh? You, about to kill me against your will, me, about to… be killed. Business as usual. Just wish it happened _after_ we made dramatic reunion love.”

She doesn’t do anything so you reach out and cup her cheek, draw your thumb along soft skin. You use your other hand to gently take her hand in yours. You keep it at thigh level, give it a brief squeeze that’s real fucking difficult due to how you could probably crack her fingers from how tense you are. Her ears flick. Good sign.

You take her hand up your lips and kiss her knuckles, just once. She tilts her head, unblinking. “Wake up?” you venture.

The door flies open. Jade’s hair hits you in the face from the resulting winds. She uses her necromancy to call out to your ‘dead’ prosthetic, and tells it to hit the deck. You, therefore, hit the deck and bang your tailbone real hard on the overheated wood floor. 

The Condesce manhandles Jade out of the way with her bulbous elbows, then produces a trident from literally nowhere and points it at your collarbone as you try desperately to scramble backwards. You can’t look away from her flaming pink eyes, toxic bright and awful.

"You," she says, and her voice is like howling winds. Her hair billows around her in huge plumes. "I thought I told you to get bent. You fucked up my plans reel bad bouy, ya'll was going to be my commander, ya'll was going to be my might. Ya'll was gonna grace the top of my crown with your dank scarlet blood. Thought you were dead when you ran away, kiddo! Guess you ain't. I’d normally exile you as punishment for treason, ya know? Maybe you could do hard labor minin’ my diamonds. Or maybe put ya to work in the breedin’ caverns ‘cuz Kankri won’t put out. But now-” 

She edges away your skirt with her massive foot, exposing your prosthetic.

“-There's no way in hell you're getting another shot at that empoolment oppertunaty, not when you ain't got all of your body, not when you ain't a whole troll. Guess I gotta fix this big ol' fuck up! Shoulda culled you long ago."

She presses her fork into your stomach. You close your eyes very tight. “Jade, please wake up.”

It's not like you haven't been gutted under the ribcage about 800 times by now, but it still doesn't hurt any less. It might even hurt _more_. You realize, accompanied by a godawful scream from your maw, that she didn't hit anything vital and you are in for a very long and very slow bleed-out. Jade screams.

“< _There isn’t a temple anywhere nearby!_ >” she wails. You blink open your eyes, vision foggy and red through the pain, and watch Jade clutch at her cheeks above you. The pink symbol on her forehead flickers. “How am I supposed to resurrect him!? I don’t have any scrolls, I have nothing!”

"No worries,” says the Condesce. “Imma just go ahead and blow your bf's body up so _nobody_ can resurrect him, carpeesh? Seems like he's your  <3 and all, but we can't have him corrupting the gene pool and/or my view with his handicappin', treasonous, failure of an ass tromping all over the place. Also, petty revenge is the best kinda dish."

“< _I haven’t seen him in two months,_ >” she says, horrified. The pink mark flickers even faster, more jarred. “< _I missed him so much and went through so much by myself and now! Now this!?_ >”

The Condesce narrows her eyes, still pressing her trident through your stomach. You’re pinned to the ground, can’t move even if you weren’t bleeding out. “I swear,” she mutters. “If tru luv breaks my mind control I will _shit_ myself.”

Jade shuts her eyes tightly and makes a noise like she’s trying to explode herself into a million pieces. The pink sign on her forhead fizzles out. Green static travels up and down all the paper walls, as she pops her eyes open, mad as can be. All the paper walls in the room begin to rattle as she throws her arms out.

“Better get ready to shit yourself!” says Jade. “Because I am _not_ ready to be a necrophiliac!”

You try to tell Jade it’s a lost cause, you’re dead in ten minutes max, but when you open your mouth your throat is filled full with blood. It embarrassingly splatters down your chin. 

The paper doors rip themselves from their foundations, simultaneously. Jade hurls them at the Condesce, who immediately _rips her trident out of you_ to spin and deflect the massive and probably priceless wooden screens. You clutch at your chest despite yourself, familiar with the feeling of oncoming death. You feel heavy and tired and hurt, unable to keep your vision focused on the flying screens above you for more than two seconds at a time. No temples, huh? If Jade, by some miracle, manages to defend you from total destruction, she’ll have to throw you in the snow for a week so you don’t decompose until she can get back to a temple. You’d rather have that than get soul trapped, like Latula and her decapitated head. 

"I hope you know he's supposed to be my knight!" Jade yells between throws. "He's the only reason I'm going through with this stupid wedding! If you kill him, I've got no reason to marry Eridan!"

"Whazzat?"

"I said you can't _viewglobe-pluck-intestine-strangle_ Karkat because-"

"Wrong... 'Murder' verb..." you choke out. "Jade... your Alternian... fucking sucks."

And with the last of your energy expended on a grammatical correction, you die.

Being dead-but-still-resurrectable is akin to sitting in a dark waiting room while playing cards with yourself, except you can't see the cards but you are still furiously trying to shuffle the deck as a metaphor for getting your life in order. Or something. It's an unbelievably confusing stream of consciousness as your brain tries to get itself all lined up for perma-death in case if nobody comes to resurrect you.

Thankfully, you're intimate with a necromancer. You open your eyes back into the bright world of life, unsure where you are or how much time has passed, with Jade's face filling your vision. She's sobbing, for some reason. She doesn’t cry often, only when she’s desperately stressed. You watch her tears hit the rim of her glasses, trail down onto her cheeks, and your heart aches. Is she crying over you? You're not worth it.

"< _What's wrong, moon and stars?_ >" you say, quiet. "< _I'm right as rain already, don't worry about me._ >"

You raise your hand to wipe away her tears, and get an inkling as to why she's pouring her eyes out. You are still, apparently, dead as a doorknob. She didn't actually resurrect you yet, just slam dunked your soul back into your body like a superstar scoring a basket in fantasy troll orange balled competition. You fucking hate the necromantic arts and all their shit tier rules. You fucking hate the soul trap thing. The blood in your arm sits thick like stone, with no heart to beat it, and you feel heavy and dull stuck in your own corpse. You stifle your reams of complaints you're drafting up already because _Jade is sad and you must fix it_.

You run your palm up along her jawline, dry her tears with your thumb, nerves that thought they could take a break for once being lazy and barely registering you're touching anything. She presses your hand against her cheek with her own, much warmer one.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I know you platonically hate the soul trap thing."

"< _I guess my levels of hate and non-hate would depend on why you did it._ >"

She sniffles, takes a deep breath, and then bursts into tears. You watch her try to form her feelings into words, she was always inordinately bad at that in moments of crisis, she'll probably say something completely off the wall like-

"< _I-I-I-I haven't even gotten to have sex with you for two months! Two months! Karkat we gotta hurry up and do that before you get cold!_ >"

"Jade, no, that's fucking disgusting and you know it." you groan, then sit up, patting the three holes where you got forked like a snausage. You can feel your blood hold still, unpumping, like your whole body is filled with stone. You’re in the same place, minus the Condesce and minus all the walls in a thirty foot radius. It must have only been a couple minutes, fuck. “But if you want something slightly less gross, you fetishistic edgelord, I'm still warm and still probably smell like Karkat as opposed to a freeze-burned corpse-kat. < _C'mere, love._ >”

You open your arms and she falls into them. She presses her face into your chest, not caring about the blood getting on her dress, and you hold her close and tight. You can smell her hair, but not as strongly or vibrantly as you would like to. Seriously, fuck being dead.

“< _Did you bring me back to talk?_ >” you ask.

“Yeah,” she sniffles. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about where the Condesce fucked off to?”

“She stopped attacking when I said I’d run away if she destroyed you. Or if she exiled you,” she says. She snuggles further into your chest, and you wish it wasn’t gross to kiss her right now. “I know you don’t really get it, but this wedding with Eridan is like, super important. He’s sort of a bargaining chip for a tense political environment right now, and my mom really wants him on our side, she’s been harping on me to marry him for sweeps and sweeps! He owns a massive flotilla. Like with gunships and everything.”

“Seriously?”

< _Yeah, the Grand Highblood killed his direct ancestor and his older brother-troll-thing is super incompetent, so to Eridan it went,_ >” she says. She sounds normal now, like she stopped crying. “< _But I’m really only doing this because I made a deal with my mom. I said, ‘Mom, I want Karkat knighted again, so he can be my knight.’ And she said, ‘Only if you stop being a butt and marry Eridan right now!’ So I made the deal._ >”

You freeze up. That’s why they let you into the Knight Coalition again. Not out of the goodness of their hearts, but because royal favors played into it. It was the only reason you were able to take that test, her getting spirited away for a perigree was for _you_. Her doing that for you is not alright in the least. You push her off of you by the shoulders so she has to make eye contact. “Jade, what the fuck? If you didn’t want to get married, if you’ve been avoiding this for _sweeps_ , then I really don’t understand why you’re willing to go through all this shit so I can get a title.”

She blinks at you, tears dry. You see your reflection in her glasses, with dead white eyes. Eugh. “Because we promised we would! It meant so much,” she says. “It’s not just for you, it’s for me, too! A lot of its for me,” she bites her lip and looks to the side. “And… and some other reasons. Some, bad, greedy reasons. Not like it matters right now… You’re stuck being dead until I’m free to leave. My teleportation range isn’t big enough for me to risk trying to get you through the mountains to a Death temple… I-I think I’ll have to put you in the snow outside when I go to sleep… Or maybe me and Vriska can take turns keeping your body preserved?”

You blow your hair out of your eyes and are about to continue discussing that knighting/marriage thing before Jade so slyly changed the subject, when you hear a faint scream from somewhere down the hall. The scream crescendos. Vriska Serket canonballs into view, rapidly flying down the hall three inches above the floor. She hits the one solid wall in the area, but catches herself on all fours against it. She does a flip, and lands a perfect 10. You always forget she’s trained as a thief. 

“Did someone say-” she spreads her arms out wide. “-Illegal pirate necromancy temple?”

“Actually we said your name, but sure?” says Jade.

“Close enough!” says Vriska, almost jumping with excitement. “Look, I was listening to eeeeeeeeverything that happened! And poor, sweet, precious Karkat seems to have gotten himself in a whole heap of dead. Thankfully, I, the savior, know how to solve this conundrum without being a loser and waiting a million sweeps to resurrect him. Two words-”

She skitters up really close to the both of you, then holds up two fingers. “Mind. Fang.”

“That’s one word and you fucking know it,” you say.

John meanders into the battered down room you’ve created for yourself, taps her on the shoulder. “Vriska! Did my spell work? How was the entrance?”

“Perfectly dramatic! I killed it! Thanks John!” She snaps her head back to you and Jade. “Anyway, I happen to be on very close terms with one of the most illegal necromancers of all time. Bootleg resurrection scrolls, stolen contracts, mysterious fresh corpses for soul transplant, offshore deals with gods that _aren’t_ the Lady and Lord of Death... Tons o' options for nefarious Karkat-resurrection! And her name starts with a Mind and ends with a Fuck because she'll screw you over if we get caught by the law! And her ship happens to be on the icy waters just nearby! We can swipe in, pay her, get Karkat resurrected, and swipe out! Am I a genius or am I a genius?”

“Alright, _genius_ ,” you spit out the word. “What’s in it for you?”

“The warm fuzzy feeling I get when I help people.”

You don’t buy it.

“How are we going to get there?” says Jade. “I don’t know where I would teleport you all, and I don’t think I can go one at a time…”

“Well,” says Vriska. She grins. “Eridan’s got a gunship.”


	5. Spooky Scary!

“Tell me why we’re going through with this. Is my fleshy warm body seriously so important that you have to drop everything, ditch your own party, bundle up, head out onto an icy lake in the middle of a white-out blizzard, hijack a ship of a guy you _know_ neither of us are fond of, and participate in probably a highly illegal resurrection with a wanted criminal-necromancer-pirate, all at _two in the fucking morning!?_ ”

“Yes!” say Jade and Eridan at the exact same time, in the exact same tone of voice.

You glare at Eridan. “I know why _you_ just blurted out in agreement, you lustful sack of shit. But…” You switch to Common to make your conversation private. “ < _Why you?_ >”

“< _I-I-_ >” she stutters, her eyes scanning for some way out, some reason she can give you. She decides on, “< _I just wanna kiss you and stuff, okay!?_ >”

She’s doing that thing she does when she has something important to say but can’t bring herself to tell you about it. Usually this happens because she feels she has some quirky personal character flaw and is embarrassed about it. You drag a hand down your face in frustration. “< _Jade that is clearly a cover-up for some deep emotional issue you are experiencing and/or dramatic conflict you don’t want to tell me about, and I am going to wean that sucker out of you right no-_ >” 

“We’re here!” yells Vriska, from the deck.

You’re on Eridan’s smallest gunner ship, made for a crew of about three people. It’s small but it’s anything but subtle: the sails are purple, the wood is painted a gaudy black, and there’s a massive metal panel the size of a planet bolted onto the front. It cuts through the ice on this horrible mountain lake you’re currently sailing through. There are rows of thin cannons bulging out from the hull; weaponry that Eridan has rigged up to his wand. The boat is low to the water, which means that every time there’s a wave the dark waters vomit ice chunks all over the deck. 

John is sitting on the bow of the ship, crosslegged, spreading his arms out so his magical wind spell can drive the blizzard away to clear a visible path for the boat. Ahead of you, you see Mindfang’s ghost ship.

It’s black, but not in the cheap way Eridan’s boat is. It’s black because the wood is so old and burnt from an ineffable amount of battles and brawls. The sails are nothing more than ratted old netting, pulsing with a dull blue glow from what you assume is Mindfang’s necromancy. The galleon levitates on top of the water as opposed to floating on it like normal, mediocre, non-spooky boats do. You once heard a rumor it could sail on land. 

Eridan cranks the steering wheel left, shouts some incomprehensible nautical command to Vriska, who must be feeling real real good about this expedition because she actually follows orders. Jade, using nothing but her attractive, beefy muscles, picks up the anchor and hurls it into the water. The boat slows to a near stop next to Mindfang’s ship. While the gunship bobs in the waves, Mindfang’s ship is as unmoving and solid as a rock.

It’s a much larger ship than your measly gun boat. You stare up past rusty canons jutting from broken portholes to the battered railing. It’s something you wouldn’t be able to see normally, since it’s, you know, _two in the fucking morning in a fucking blizzard_ , but that eerie blue glow makes most everything visible. You turn to Jade, who is checking the anchor.

“I guess you have to teleport me up there.”

“Wait!” yells Vriska. “Team meeting!”

She bolts across the deck, dragging John along by the wrist. She corrals you, John, Eridan, and Jade near the wheel. She insists you all huddle in real close which feels fucking stupid. 

“First of all, how _dare_ you try to set foot on her ship without me. That thing will turn transparent faster than you can say ‘unwelcome’ and you’ll sink right through it and to the bottom of the lake,” says Vriska. She’s hard to hear over the snow and the eight scarves she has wrapped around her face. “You’ll be following _my_ lead, Vantas, if your pathetic brain can even hope to handle my instructions.”

You flip her off, but she continues talking. “Here’s the plan: we get Jade to pay for Karkat’s resurrection since she’s loaded, Mindfang pays up in whatever illegal method she’s feeling like today, and we get right back out of here! Simple, right?”

You still have a bad feeling about this. Altruism isn’t the first word that comes to mind when you think of Vriska Serket. Jade raises her mitten. “Does she take cash or credit?”

“Credit’s fine, just put the royal Earthen seal on a piece of paper and she’ll come pick up the payment later,” says Vriska. She moves in closer, and her voice becomes a whisper. “Oh, and one more thing… Mindfang’s totally awesome, but she’s… Off her rocker. A little bit... senile, kinda. The smaaaaaaaallest bit. Soooooooo… don’t do anything that might set her off, got it?”

“How crazy are we talkin’?” asks Eridan.

Vriska hesitates, clearly trying to think of an example. “She shoved newspaper down her shirt to give herself more troll boobidge.”

“That’s sort of judgmental, don’t you think?” says Jade, putting her hands on her hips. “Mindfang can plump out her _obtuse-pillow-front-area_ any way she so pleases!”

You bite your knuckle to avoid correcting Jade’s Alternian.

“Not like that. You’ll see what I mean,” Vriska replies. She backs away, and the team meeting is over. She raises her arms up. “John, take me up! Once we’re on the ship and I clear our little visit with Mindfang, Jade and Karkat can teleport up to the deck and follow me. Eridan, you stay here and babysit.”

“Don’t even try bein’ judgmental, Serket, I fuckin’ love this boat.”

It’s extremely suspicious that John doesn’t even make a joke about following her orders, he just does what she asked. In fact, he’s been stone cold silent this whole night. You can’t tell what sort of expression he’s making, as he’s got a coat fluffier than a sheep’s tummy covering half his face and his glasses are fogged up. As John picks Vriska up under the arms and floats up with her onto the deck of the galleon, you scoot up close to Jade.

“< _Is Vriska up to something?_ >” you whisper. Jade’s ears perk up.

“< _I think so? But I can’t tell what. Let’s keep our guards up._ >”

Eridan glares at the two of you as you talk, and you can’t tell if he’s jealous of you or jealous of Jade, in whatever screwed up idea of romance he has with either of you. You are considering bringing back your scapegoat past self for the sheer embarrassment that fills you when you think of your erotic actions. Well, your future self can deal with that when you’re not dead.

Vriska leans over the railing to peer down at the three of you, hair whipping in the wind. “You’re cleared to enter, come on up!”

Jade takes your arm, there’s a moment of eye gouging green, and you’re standing on the black, creaky deck of the famed necromancer vessel. Vriska waves, then points towards a wooden wall you can barely see through the frostbite inducing death storm. She leads the three of you towards it.

You slink up next to John and tap him on the shoulder. Vriska knows a bit of Common, but not enough to really understand what you're talking about. "< _Hey, does your fiancee have some ulterior motive here? Like, is she going to try and stab me in the back or possess me when Jade lets her necromantic guard down?_ >"

John laughs, which annoys you. Serkets are no laughing matter. "< _Don't be ridiculous, Karkat! Vriska won't hurt you. She's just acting weird because she's excited to be on Mindfang’s ghost ship._ >"

You facepalm over how willfully ignorant John is. You suppose that happens when you like a troll like Vri-

Wait, hold the fuck up, you've never thought about this: how does John actually feel about Vriska? He chose her as an arranged fiancee over Aranea, but you'd choose a sword in your abdomen over Aranea. You think they're at least friends? You're... pretty sure Vriska pities him? Probably because she thinks he's a dumbass, and you can absolutely follow that train of thought, but you've got no idea why John goes along with it. They can't be matesprits, humans don't get it. Maybe they're moirails? Maybe they're nothing?

Either way, when John eventually takes the Earthen throne, you are going to trip over yourself backwards making sure Vriska doesn't twist him into some kind of puppet ruler.

Vriska opens a once-grand door in the wall, with faded gold paint and shrunken withered wood so it doesn't fit in the frame. There's a staircase that goes down into the inner reaches of the hull, and you all follow Vriska down them, every step creaking as you walk.

The captain’s cabin is small and lacks anything that would normally be present in the headquarters of a ship. There's only a couple candles melting over themselves in the corners of the room to provide any light. There's no bed or treasure chest of valuables, no closet or portholes. The walls are covered in souvenirs from places Mindfang's been: paintings of long dead trolls, faded first place ribbons, postcards from nowhere, random bones, a couple cards with l8ky!!!!!!!! written on them, shrunken heads on a string like a garland. The centerpiece of the room is the massive hunk of wood sculpted and carved into a what looks like a 3 ton desk. Mindfang sits at it.

Sure, you've heard of Mindfang, she's vaguely infamous as the only necromancer-pirate in Alternia, but you failed to realize she was... dead.

That has to be the deadest thing you've ever seen. You're pretty sure artificially extending your own life, by your own goddamn self, is incredibly illegal as far as the Death Gods are concerned... which solves the mystery as to why she decided to be some off-brand bootleg resurrection dispenser as opposed to an ordained one. Not like you wanted to solve that in the first place.

She doesn't move at all, you're not sure if she even can. Her glowing blue pupil is the only thing on her "person" that reacts to you. It follows you as you approach the desk. You, specifically. You shudder, can't look away.

"Pretty pet," says a hollow, tinny voice, an echo of something once beautiful. It comes from the direction of her mouth, but her jaw doesn't move, nothing moves but the eye. "Pretty red pet, little dove, I’ll slaughter you. Take all your blood and make it mine and write labyrinthine spell-stories with your life. I wanted the same with your kin long ago."

You weren't scared before, you were more nervous about Vriska trying to pull something, but now you are shit-yourself levels of frightened. You know for a fact that she hasn't gone after Kankri, so she must be talking about the _last_ mutant red troll on this plane of existence, who lived about a thousand years ago. Mindfang is old, god-like levels of old. An ancient skeleton draining your blood to use as ink for her magic pirate spells is one straight out of the slasher novels.

A soft mitten brushes against your arm, and Jade takes your hand. She squeezes tight enough for you to feel.

"Yeah, right, you old fart," says Vriska. "You couldn't arm wrestle a feather and win."

Mindfang's eye flicks to Vriska. "My dearest Serket, my favorite Serket, come here and give your beloved ancestor a kiss."

Vriska laughs, entirely unfazed. "Funny joke, bonejangles! Hell no, that’ll probably kill me. I know those tropes: kiss of death and all that. We're here to get my best buddy's life back." She thwaps you on the shoulder. "We'd like to play a game. Loser has to pay up, either with a resurrection or with a ton of money."

Jade speaks up. "Oh noooooo, I thought we could just pay her! Do I have to play chess for his soul again!? I am so done with chess! Forever!"

Vriska elbows her in the side, mouthing 'shut up.'

Mindfang’s bones creak as her skull tilts just the tiniest bit to the right. "I feel as though I should request a simple payment, but oh, I do love a good game. I have an exorbitant amount of luck, you know, almost all of it. It feels so good to win, like I'm living once more. Yes, let us play a game, for the pretty thing’s life. Green-eyed pet, you won't be the one playing for him. I like to deal with my customers on a personal level."

You wince. "I also want to lay claim to the fact that I am also 'so done with chess, forever.' Let's not play chess for my soul this time."

"Then what, dear thing, would you like to compete in? I will honor any request."

You are talented at like, nothing. The only thing you would even remotely consider a talent of yours is 'being immune to magic,' and that's less of something you can perform at will and more of a genetics thing. Every other aspect of yourself is remarkably average or piss-poor.

No, you know better, you fucking idiot. That's something your past-self would say. You just have to think of something you can beat Mindfang with, you don't have to be the best in the world at it.

You can't do card games or dice games, because if she's anything like Vriska, chances are she'll somehow beat the odds and crush you. You have no idea if you could win in a fight, but judging by how long she's lived after who knows how many assassination attempts, you're thinking it's pretty unlikely. You don't see a single boardgame in her cabin, and you suck at boardgames anyway. You're probably leagues better at interpersonal relationships than her, but unless if making friendship bracelets is a sport you don't think you can win at that. What else are you good at?

You turn to Jade. "< _What am I good at?_ >"

Her answer is immediate. "< _You're really good at ranting and reading books? Maybe you should try a spelling game, or some kind of word game. Like that game you'd always win on our roadtrips. We did it in Common though, but I'm sure you're really good at it in Alternian too!_ >"

"< _Holy shit, thanks,_ >" you say, genuinely meaning it. You turn back to Mindfang. "We’re playing a word chain game. We take turns matching the end of the previous two letters, like, sweetened - education - onlooker. Can't reuse words, no impossible words like 'running,' pause too long and you lose. Are we clear?"

"Clear as crystal," says Mindfang. You swear to everything holy her skeletal smile gets a little bigger. You shiver, despite being unable to feel the cold. 

You have to remember that nothing crucial is at stake here. If you lose, Jade has to pay for you, that's all. Sucks for her wallet, but you’re hoping she’ll use money from the Condesce’s treasury.

"Sit! Sit!" says Mindfang, and you watch a chair construct itself from the wooden planks of the deck. You do as told, albeit hesitantly. You sit facing Mindfang, your knee bumping against the sarcophagus-like desk. Jade keeps a comforting hand on your shoulder. "By the necromantic powers stolen for me by the Great Goddess of Spiders, let us begin the game."

The setting drops away, all that’s left is the desk, Mindfang, and your crappy chair made of regurgitated dead tree. All around you is black, black, black. Gods, you fucking hate necromancy. Do you really need a special, devoid-of-anything arena to work some mystical arts in? No, fuck no, giant voids of nothing are stupid.

Mindfang looks smug, but it might just be her perma-grin. "Aria," she says.

"Iambic," you say immediately.

She clearly did not expect you to get it that fast. A transparent lid flutters over her eye. "Ice."

"Centipede."

"Deceive."

"Vectorial."

"Alimony."

"Nymph."

“Phantasm.”

This goes on for a while. You don’t even break a sweat, but neither does Mindfang. This is probably because she lacks any sweat glands on her person but you feel like the metaphor still stands. You lose track of time after a while, becoming more and more focused on trying to remember what words have been said already as opposed to counting down the seconds on your shitty internal clock. 

"Alphabetic."

"Icky."

"Ky- uh..." Mindfang hesitates, then her knuckles painstakingly curl inward to knock on the table. "That's an impossible sound, loser of the game!"

Is she some kind of idiot? "Uh, no it's not. I can think of a couple words. Need help? Concede defeat?"

"Sure, if you can dream up a believable vocabulary word. Which absolutely does not exist."

"Fine, have it your way. Kyphosis. Like, when someone's spine bulges out?" You point at your back, to demonstrate. She doesn't believe you. "Look, I swear on my currently nonexistent lifeblood this is an actual word, what the shit do you want from me?"

"A dictionary."

"Good thing I always have an Alternian dictionary with me every second of every fucking day," you say, digging in your pants pocket. "Because I'm just that kind of guy."

Her pupil rolls in her socket. "Blood child, I was trying to trick you. I did not plan for this twist. I'd like to duly inform you that you're a loser."

You flip through the pages of your handy dandy pocket dictionary, determined to prove a point. "Never heard that cunning burn before, you should resurrect me just so you can kill me again with that scathing insult!" You spend a while trying to find it, because the Alternian language is many things but organized isn't one of them. You eventually find and show her the entry for 'kyphosis.' She sighs, as much as she can with no lungs.

"You win fairly, pet. Now pucker up and prepare to return to the living."

You physically scoot back your chair. "What!? No, no, no! Why that?"

"Haven't you heard of staple tropes, dear pet? The kiss of life is a classic. And from dry bones too, how very romantic— in the gothic sense, that is."

You more or less pictured someone who wasn't a skeleton giving that to you. Like Jade, for instance. "Seriously? Fuck you. Just make it brief."

You close your eyes where you are and pucker your lips tight. You're going to make this skeleton _work_ for some lovin'.

Instead of gross ass tooth decay slamming into your mouth, like you expected, you feel the press of excruciatingly normal lips. You resist the urge to snap your eyes open and scream. The kiss is, ignoring the impossibility of this scenario, just a normal kiss. You feel soft hands with long nails press themselves on either side of your jaw. They’re small, wimpy like Vriska’s.

Mindfang, or what you assume is Mindfang, smells like autumn. Like piles of leaves and apples and scented candles and cold crisp air and bonfires and warm blankets. Which is a hell of a thing to pack into a simple lip-touch. The feeling of it, that nostalgia, is enough to make you drop your guard and relax. It’s all sort of… pleasantly overwhelming. Mindfang shifts, and you feel the sensitive wet of her lipstick left on your mouth, and the clear impression of that makes you realize you’re alive again.

Holy shit, you were not expecting that to be so subtle. The normal way of resurrection just feels like you’re being upchucked from Death’s mouth with no buildup. It was so _nice_ , it makes you wonder what kind of troll Mindfang was when she wasn’t a batshit skeleton. She backs off, and you still feel her (very alive, very sweet) breath on your skin, so you keep your eyes shut in case you open them to find something bony and rotten. 

She moves in for another kiss, but instead of more of the same, you are met with the jarring feeling of Mindfang sinking the latter half of her name into your bottom lip. Like, really fucking hard. This is not playful nipping, this is an assassination attempt. You jolt back, open your eyes, shoot your hand to your mouth to feel your now-flowing blood dripping down your chin. It stings, badly.

It feels about eighty degrees colder than it was when you were dead. It occurs to you that your past self should have remembered to bring a coat for when he wasn't dead anymore. At least you aren’t smack dab in a blizzard— you’re back in the captain’s cabin. You’re in the exact same place you were before, and Mindfang hasn’t budged an inch from across the desk, despite it being only a millisecond since you recoiled from her face. She’s skeletal as ever. Your own blood is smeared across her teeth and jaw.

You wipe the lower part of your face off with the back of your hand. She kissed you with blue lipstick.

Mindfang uses a manicured nail to draw little swirlys all over her decrepit face with your blood. Which is fucking disgusting in the most overblown sense of the term. “I wanted more, but I have not the time. You see, as we had our too-brief ‘a dream, sweet Serket was a naughty little girl.”

You realize that, besides for you and Mindfang, the cabin is empty. The ship lurches, and you grab the desk so you don’t go flying to the left. Mindfang remains statuesque. You hear something explode on the deck.

“I expected the other spider to try to usurp me first, but it seems she was waylaid. Were you a part of the plan, secret thing?” 

You have no idea what she’s talking about, but you have gathered that Vriska is being a dick again and you don’t want to be a part of it. “Er, no, m’am.”

“Of course you weren’t, pet. Not you, you’re too much ‘a loser.” Her nails scrape against the desk. With an arduous, slow, movement, a movement like rusted gears turning in an ancient clock, Mindfang stands. Her bones glow a dull blue from her own necromancy. You stand up in a rush, scramble to the side as she walks herself out from behind the desk. A rib in her poor excuse for a cleavage window crumbles into dust. It rebuilds itself instantly, with a flash of blue.

Her head turns 180 degrees to talk to you. She draws her scimitar from the rotten leather scabbard at her waist, with jolted creaking motions like an old marionette. “I think there’s one more ass-kicking left in me, no?”


	6. Stormy Weather

Before Mindfang can open the cabin door herself, Jade hurls it open like she’s trying to rip it off the hinges. The blizzard whooshes through Mindfang’s bones and hits you in the face with negative eighty degree windchill.

Jade stands at the top of the stairs and screams at you. “< _Karkat! John and Vriska have totally lost it, we’ve got to-_ > Oh, excuse me.”

Jade scoots out of the way so Mindfang can trudge her way onto the deck of her ship. She lets Mindfang go past, then waits for you in the door frame as you do your high-kick-limp thing up the stairs. “What the fuck is going on?” you yell, because the wind is suddenly much louder than you remember it being before your game.

“I tried to stop them! But they wouldn’t listen!” Jade helps you up the last step, then moves aside so you can look at the scene. “I think they’re trying to destroy the boat!”

Vriska and John appear to be in the process of dismantling the ship, piece by piece. Which is a fucking weird thing to do and you have no idea what purpose that could possibly serve. They’ve already taken two masts down and thrown them into the lake, and they’re working on the last. Vriska summons up all her object-controlling necromancy to separate the trunk of it from the base of the ship, while John helps her hurl it over with his wind magic. They both have the constipated facial expressions of two people who are putting a hell of an effort into something.

They chuck the final mast into the water as Mindfang faces them down. The resulting wave hits the hull of the ship and you and Jade stumble when the floor tilts underneath you. John plucks Vriska up and into the air so they don’t feel the effects, while Mindfang remains completely steady.

“Little Prince, why take apart my pride and joy?” Mindfang asks John, her tinny voice crystal clear over the blizzard. “Now I will have to put a premature end to your dynasty. You and the spider will only be-”

“Excuse me! Hold on, I need to tell him something!” yells Jade. Mindfang’s head jolts to look at her. "< _John, what the fuck are you doing!? I do not need this shit from you!_ >" she screams into the blizzard. "< _You come down here right now! We're leaving!_ >"

"< _Oh, if you want to leave, go for it,_ >" John hollers back while grinning. "< _Vriska and I are fine here, don't worry about it._ >"

Jade pulls at her hair, makes a frustrated noise. You knew Vriska was up to something, but John was a surprise. Part of you wants to stay and help with whatever they’re doing, because you consider John a friend and don’t want him to be horribly slaughtered by a pirate skeleton. However, it’s two in the fucking morning, it’s dark, you don’t have a coat, you’re weirdly fond of Mindfang and don’t want to fight her, John and Vriska are absolute fucking powerhouses, and Jade looks like she’s about to bust a brain cell from sheer stress. You take her arm. “< _Let’s go. Where’s Eridan? Does he want out too?_ >”

Jade sounds exasperated. "I don't know, I don't care about Eridan!"

Mindfang’s jaw hinges open and hits her collarbone. The blue from her eye grows and grows, spreads throughout her entire body. In one horrible moment, all of her bones and clothes and wigs collapse onto the ground. A vaguely humanoid blue spirit, much bigger than a normal troll, picks up the scimitar on the ground.

You rush towards the railing and peer over it. Through the blizzard, you see Eridan grotesquely picking his teeth with his wand, leaning against the steering wheel of his own ship. "Hey, we're leaving, are you coming with us?"

You hear Vriska yell, “Remember not to look directly at her, John! She can possess you!”

"Naw, the royal couple needs to get back somehow. Sorry, Kar'. I mean, you're hot and all, but Vris' is such a fucking bulgewad. It's so arousing. I’d do whatever she wants."

There is a moment of very passionate troll-jealousy that overtakes all your rational thoughts. Most of said irrational thoughts involve hurdling yourself on top of him and maiming him and whispering to him in your special sexy voice 'you're mine' or something equally cheesy. And then knocking out Vriska when you're done.

But then you remember that you don't care about him all that much and should absolutely talk to Jade before doing anything idiotic, so you just scoff at him. You’re about to return to Jade so you can leave this hellhole when he says, all coy, “What? That didn’t make you jealous?”

And then you’re _this close_ to actually hurdling yourself over the railing and performing all your imagined actions. Before you can do something really stupid, the ghost ship turns immaterial, transparent, and you begin to fall through the deck. Jade latches onto your waist, there's a moment of green, and instead of falling into a freezing lake you fall into a pile of freezing snow.

You can’t tell up from down for a second as you’re thrown into a blinding white snowscape. Combined with how wet you are from lake spray and with how little weather-proof clothing you’re wearing, this leads to a severe case of disorientation and chill. You manage to find your ground and stand up, up to your knees in snow. You look around you, panicked.

“Jade!” you call out. “Where the fuck are you!? Why the fuck are we still outside!?”

“I’m here,” she yells back. You feel her mitten on your wrist. You turn to her, her face barely visible in the dark, in the snow, in the sheer awfulness of this situation. “We’re just a couple lawn rings away from my room! C’mon!”

She still sounds pissed. She knots her skirts up at her thighs, then begins to stomp through the snow. With the way your prosthetic works, you can’t do the same thing. There’s not enough weight on it to lift the snow out of your way. Instead you just sort of trip, making an embarrassing noise as you just barely catch yourself before you face plant on the ice. “Jade, I can’t walk in this!”

She whips around. She glares bloody murder at you. “< _I am so done with your shit, Karkat! I don’t care! I don’t want to deal with-_ >” She realizes what she’s saying. She stops, drags a hand down her face. “I… I didn’t mean that. Here, I’ll carry you.”

“< _What is with you!?_ >” you yell, because she never, ever, does this. “< _I don’t understand what’s going on! I don’t understand why you haven’t talked to me in a perigree, or why you’re doing all this weird shit, or what’s with this stick-in-the-mud attitude!_ >”

She looks at you like she’s going to argue right back, verbal spar style, in a way that will absolutely end with one of you dying of frostbite over refusal to compromise. Instead, she snaps her mouth shut, her arms tense like she’s going to throw a punch, and she lunges for you. She slams her face into your collarbone, wraps her arms strangle-tight around your waist, and presses her body to you as close as she can. She says, just loud enough to hear over the blizzard, “< _I don’t want to get married._ >”

You shove your hands up into her coat to avoid getting frostbite. "Far be it from me to blame you, but is that really worth anguishing over? Just a little bit more and you're done with this and we can go back to adventuring and whatnot. You can suck it up, you're strong."

“I can’t! The more I try the more mad and stressed I get! I’m afraid things will change, and I can’t go on adventures with you anymore,” she nuzzles into your shoulder. “I’m so scared, and I’m better than that! I shouldn’t be scared. < _But I’m afraid I’ll be called into weird diplomacy meetings all the time, as Eridan’s wife, as some kind of… interspecies bargaining chip._ >”

“< _Let’s run then,_ >” The winds howl around you, your ears feel like they’re actual icicles. You press your face into her shoulder to warm yourself up. “< _Who says you have to do that at all? Your mom? The Condesce? Just marry Eridan, since for some reason you decided to put yourself through that hell for the sake of my knighthood, and then we book it out of here. Get bound to each other, as knight and witch, like we planned._ >”

“< _But what if… what if by participating in weird diplomacy meetings I can strengthen the alliance between humans and trolls? Make it not so weak and backstabby? Maybe I should stop running from all my responsibilities… I want to make a difference, somehow. And… and including you in on this, if you’re legitimately my knight, you’d be able to be there for me if you wanted to. You wouldn’t just be like, ‘Jade’s royal concubine,’ you’d be in a position to help._ >”

That’s a massive fucking change of heart on her part. She wants to go into politics, and have you at her side? You’re not sure what to say about that. You’ll have to ruminate on it when you’re not a solid ice cube.

“Anyway, I’ve been so stressed out about that. I didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t even know what I’m going to do. I’m so scared.” She hugs you tighter, almost takes the air out of you. “And… the other reason I’m being weird is… It should have been you.”

The wind howls. You turn your head, to hear her better. “What should have been me?”

“< _It’s so dumb, it’s so stupid of me. I stopped having these kinds of fantasies when I was like, eight. I thought I grew up._ >” She buries her head further into your shoulder. Her voice is muffled from your clothing and all the snow. “It should have been you. < _I want to marry you so bad. I want you to be my husband. I’m sorry, it’s stupid. It’s dumb._ > I know it’s dumb.”

You have a feeling she just said something very important to her but you don't understand what. "But I don't have any large tracts of land to share with you?" you say, cautiously.

"No, that's-" she sighs. "I know you're not human, and I know that even though you're not a noble or anything you've really only been exposed to weddings in elite society, so I can see where you're super confused about it... But Karkat, normal marriages are supposed to be between people who love each other very much. It’s supposed to be romantic and happy. It’s usually like… like troll quadrant binding ceremonies, but with < _love_ > instead of pity or hate."

Oh, shit. Eridan was right. You feel a cold sort of horror that isn't from the weather. You can understand that, you can understand the pain of not being able to have someone in the quadrant you want them in. You frantically try to drum up all your knowledge about weddings as you pull your arms out from under her coat, take her by the shoulders, and look her dead in the eye. “Let’s run away then, < _elope_ >, if it’s that important to you. We just need some kind of officiator, right? Let’s get, I don’t know, Terezi or someone.”

"No, that would be a silly choice to make," Jade looks down, bites her lip. "I'm fine... I mean, I'll be fine, when this is all over. I'm happy as long as you aren't introduced as my concubine at any fancy parties I'm forced to go to."

"Even if I had some dumbass title like that," you say, tilting her chin back to you. "I'd still follow you anywhere. < _I love you._ >"

She smiles, says, “I wish there was a way I could say it back in Alternian. < _I love you too!_ >” Then she kisses you. And kisses you. And kisses you. Until you've got your arms all tangled up in each other, faces smashed together like magnets, and your knuckles blistering from the cold. She breaks away to bend and pick you up. You sling your arms around her neck and rest your head on her shoulder. You fucking love being carted around by her, but you’ll never admit it. She’d never put you down. 

She tromps through the snow, somehow knowing the path despite a heavy curtain of cold and black in the way, and it isn’t long before she kicks open the glass sliding door to her bedroom. 

She stumbles up the step through the entryway, and you both gently tumble onto the warm wood floor, snow blizzarding in with the two of you. You kiss like champions as she clamors on top of you. It’s warm and dark and _Jade_ and you have no fucking idea where you are but you’re enjoying it anyway.

You get the extremely unwelcome feeling that you are more drenched than Feferi on a beach vacation as the heated floor and your rapidly growing body heat/friction tag team to melt all the snow stuck to you. And all the snow still rushing in through the open door is leaving a puddle underneath you. You’re pretty sure your legs are still hanging outside in the cold. Eh, fuck ‘em.

Jade sits up. You can’t see her expression, it’s too dark. “< _I guess I’d better close this,_ >” she laughs. She stands up, and you scoot back on the floor so she can slide the glass door shut. Your world is suddenly 80x more quiet when the blizzard is trapped on the outside. “< _I’ll get changed. I’ll bring you some dry clothes, too. Don’t want to jump your bones while we’re getting frostbite!_ >”

“< _I dunno, that might be a new obscure kink of mine. Don’t fucking shame me._ >”

She laughs, while chanting “Shame! Shame! Shame!” and walking deeper into her bedroom. It’s a massive room, with basically nothing in it as per the seadwellers’ fucked up minimalist aesthetic. One whole wall of the hallway-esque space is made up entirely of glass doors, from which a dull silver glow emanates. The blizzard, apparently, is doing its damndest to reflect the moon. The doors rattle from the force of the winds, but they’re sturdy and safe.

Jade doesn’t turn on any lights, but you don’t need much to see the singular object in the room: it’s a bed, a human one, with no frame. Just a mattress sitting on the floor. Not to understate the sheer awesomeness of that mattress, however. It’s large enough for a six troll orgy with extra rollover room, and enough blankets for all of the participants. They can even make a fucked up quadrant-crossing pile with the mountains of pillows afterwards if they so choose.

You go through the process of unwrapping and pulling off your shirt, then your skirt, which you use to wipe the snow drippings off your prosthetic. You take your boot off, but leave your pants on because you’re too lazy to screw off your leg at the moment. You toss them aside, ruining the perfectly empty aesthetic of this room. 

You stand up. Jade went into a closet across from you, and shut the paper screen door behind her. You walk over to it, then rap your knuckles against one of the panels.

“< _Hey,_ >” you call out to her, and try not to sound bashful about it. “< _Why not get changed in here?_ >”

She opens the door, holding her dress up around her chest. You think she’s smiling, you can’t see as you’re casting a shadow on her in this pathetic lighting. “< _Because then, Karkat, it wouldn’t be changing._ >”

She sounds like she’s smiling. You probably sound like you’re smiling too, you can’t help it. “< _Then what, goddess of human verbiage, would it be?_ >”

She lets the dress drop. In a moment of _oh hell yeah_ you realize she was completely naked underneath it. 

“< _Stripping!_ >”

You touch her shoulders for some much needed skin on skin contact, which combined with how soft she is and how much you missed her manages to recreate the sort of heart-exploding fireworks you get with new romance. She kisses you, chest to chest, in the tightest fucking embrace known to mankind. You manage to wiggle away, to fall to your knees in front of her. You end up eye level with her navel.

“< _Like what you see?_ >” she asks. She tilts your head up so you have to look at her face, then runs her fingers through your hair so softly you think you might start purring.

You take your sweet time trawling your eyes down her body. You memorize every inch of her like she’s going to be on the test tomorrow morning. The snow-light makes the slick line of her thighs, waist, and shoulders shimmer in the dark. You run your tongue along the points of your teeth. “< _Love what I see._ >”

You watch her mouth your name in the low light. You touch the curve of her waist, lightly, like your fingers aren’t worthy of her. They aren’t, but fuck if you don’t want her anyway. You lean in, press your lips near her navel, trail kisses down to the bones of her hips. She’s warm. Pleasurable. Gorgeous. All the usual Jade-adjectives that make you want to sit in a bathtub and fuck yourself for a couple hours whenever you think of them.

“Was this worth the lake voyage?” you ask. You slide a hand down her thighs, along the inside, and she shivers. “Maybe I should have been calling _you_ the lustful sack of shit.”

“ _You’re_ the one on your knees, bucko,” she laughs. “But you are worth it, I missed you. I missed you… I dunno how to describe it. I missed you so passionately. I missed your touch. I want to have a big, long, cuddly conversation with you in bed after we have sex and we stare into each other’s eyes for hours and hours. Can’t do that when you’re dead.”

She drags her thumb along the base of your horns, where you’re extra sensitive. You shake and your face heats up, because even though you’re a fucking adult and too old for blushing you can never seem to stop your horrendous sex flush. You lean in to hide it, to kiss just above her clit. She makes this ‘ah!’ noise, so you kiss just a bit lower, too gentle, feel her clamor for your horns in anticipation.

You slip two fingers between the gap of her legs, press up against her labia. She’s wet, so you slide them inside her easy. It sucks that you have to keep dull nails for this, but it’s totally worth it to make her melt all over you. Also, like, fingerbanging is a fucking awesome form of foreplay, 10/10, would recommend, would keep nail clipper handy.

She whimpers your name, spreads her thighs out so you can thrust further in. You sit up super straight so you can kiss at her ribs, the underside of her breast, then the weird human erogenous zone at the tip of it. She likes that, gripping your horns tighter as you roll it along your tongue. With your free hand you rub at your sheath, coaxing your mentally dense bulge out from its prison of chastity. Come on out, buddy, it’s your time in the metaphorical sexual sun. Your time to shine.

You notice her tremor, which you think is from the quality foreplay you are dishing out on her, but then you look up and her nipples are like, fucking, poking you in the eye. You back away. “< _You cold?_ >”

“< _Oh my gosh, I’m freezing,_ >” she says, tapping your wrist. You slip your fingers out of her. “< _Let’s get under the covers, and you need to get naked right now, mister, or I’ll- ha ha, *wow.*_ >”

She watches you lick your fingers off. You like how she tastes, it’s the closest thing to pheromonal slurry humans have and it always makes your head fuzzy. Even though you think it’s mostly a placebo.

You stand up. She slaps your ass, giggles, then bolts to the bed while butt-fucking-naked so she can dive under the covers like a grub trying to spin a blanket cocoon. Gods, she’s so hot.

You follow. You sit down on the mattress, twist your leg off, then pants and one of your residual limb sleeves. While you do this, your bulge comes out to say hello and tries to rub itself off between your clenched thighs in what is probably some kind of suppressed desire for selfcest. You will it to behave and stay put with your impenetrable thoughts of ‘for the love of god, don’t start fucking yourself in front of Jade.’

She comes to the rescue. She comes up behind you, dragging all six of the blankets with her like some sort of unfashionable sex cape, and curls around you so her head and uncovered shoulders are on your lap. She tugs her hair out of the way, then takes your bulge into her hand. She strokes you, a few times, eyes wide like you were some sort of treasure chest she just went on a five year quest to get. She puts her mouth around the tip of your bulge.

She knows you like a show rather than repetitive sucking. Something about imagining how her tongue would feel running along the vein on the base of your bulge, imagining how your bulge would feel curled up and squished into her mouth as she performs it for you, is like a fucking drug for your brain. You accidentally get pre-slurry on her glasses, which demonstrates your own frustrating incompetence and turns you on in the worst way. Everywhere but your lower half gets hyper-sensitive, ready to compensate for all the feeing you’re missing out on in your bulge.

You whine embarrassingly when she ceases sucking you off. She sits up, grinning, wiping her mouth, then falls past you further onto the bed. She falls on her stomach, then tears off the blankets to expose the extremely fine curve of her back and ass.

“< _Let’s do it like this,_ >” she says, wiggling her butt at you.

You stare at it. “< _I hate to dig this thinkpan corpse up from the dead, but remember the last time we tried anal with you on the receiving end? ‘Oh, I can take it Karkat, it’s no problem’ and then two seconds later you’re erupting into a volcano of viewglobe fluids. You shot the mood just like you shot your own asshole._ >”

“< _Wow, uh, that was the worst way to put it ever,_ >” she pauses to make a dumb pouty face at you. “< _No, I don’t mean stick it in my butt, I mean, just… normally. Lay on top of me. I think it’d be fun on my stomach!_ >”

“< _Why didn’t you say so? That I can do._ >”

You roll onto her back, press your pelvis against her ass, hold yourself above her with a braced elbow. With your free arm trace your fingers along the curve of her thigh. She arches herself towards you, says with a voice you can barely hear over the wind at the windows, "C'mon..."

Your bulge pushes into her and she makes a noise one would make if they were melting into a puddle of warm chocolate. You don't stop until you feel that sort of vague fullness in the pit of your stomach, like you're cozied up by a fire. You start to fuck her like that, letting your bulge do the work as you lay yourself flat against her. You pull the blankets back over the two of you, up to your shoulders.

You use one arm to steady yourself so you don’t crush her like a deranged erotic trash compactor. You wedge your other arm between her hips and the bed to rub her clit. She arches her spine at your touch, whispers something you can’t hear, and you mold yourself to her body like a gelatinous cube.

You aren’t some sort of sex god, as awesome as that might be, so you have a hard time synchronizing ‘slow circles with hand’ and ‘thrusting.’ But you manage to settle into a rhythm, slowly thrusting, slowly rubbing, not getting much from your bulge but feeling every one of your muscles tighten and contract, your spine tingling all the way down until you can’t feel it any more. Your chest aches so deeply. You bury your head in her shoulder, like you’re trying to merge with her. You want to, you’re lovesick as hell.

It's snowing like a motherfucker outside. You spare a glance away from her skin to watch the blizzard hit the windows. Wind rattles the glass as you rock into her under the blankets. 

“This weather is terrible,” you whisper, kissing her ear.

“Mmm, that’s not a sexy thing to say,” she breathes out, squeezing your hand.

“< _Au contraire, love, it’s incredibly sexy._ >” You wiggle your arms around her waist, then flip her to the side, so you’re spooning her and your face is plastered on top of hers. She can see out the window now. You slide a hand down her thigh to rub her clit, for that extra pizazz. “For one, we’re in here and not dying of horrible frostbite out there. I have you in my arms and under the blankets and we are currently demonstrating how safe and secure we feel by deep and thorough penetration.”

You can tell she’s tired, her eyes fluttering shut occasionally, then blinking back open when you thrust into her _-like this-_ and she makes this contented “ah!” noise and smiles and, just, fuck yes. You love seeing her like this, you love making her melt into good feelings. 

“< _I got up so early this morning,_ >” she murmurs. “< _I’m sleepier than I thought._ >”

“< _Fine with me, as long as you’re feeling good._ >”

“Ah, no, I don’t want to get sleepy. Talk to me! Face to face!”

You do some shifting under the blankets to get into missionary, where you’re on top. You’re close enough to feel her breath, which is fast and heavy. You pick up the slow rhythm again.

“< _What do you want to talk about?_ >” you ask, between kisses.

“< _Something sexy._ >”

“< _Right. Uh,_ >” You try to think. Since you’re still a horrendous prude at heart, which must be some kind of genetic red blood thing, you have to switch to Alternian to ask the question. “Did you… think of me? When, you know, you…?”

She smiles. "I fantasized about you being dominant a lot.”

You blink. “Why? Because you feel trapped in a political snafu and need to primal-y reenact your frustrations in a safe environment?”

Jade makes a face at you. “Let’s not analyze that! Ever! Please don’t turn into Rose while we’re having sex. Bleh.”

“Fine, Ms. Can’t Take the Heat, what was your favorite fantasy?”

“A memory, actually,” Jade sighs. You slow your undulations, so the both of you can listen to each other while still staying aroused. "I thought a lot about when you won a fight against me with your prosthetic for the very first time, back when I was helping you train with it. Do you remember that?"

You kiss her, a ‘yes.’ Of course you remember. At the end of the fight you had her pinned to the ground, your sickle at her throat, your teeth barred from the rage you had to build up to win. You were sweating bullets, your vision was nearly red, you were growling at her like some sort of barbaric proto-troll. You had a few cuts and one major gash across your forehead from where she accidentally hit you too hard, and there was blood dripping down your face and everything stung like hell. You remember how she looked underneath you, panicked, like you were going to tear her to shreds.

"I was so scared for a couple seconds. I could feel your bulge was out already. I was turned on too, it was kind of hard not to be, but I was afraid you'd hurt me because you looked so scary at the time. Which was dumb. I know you wouldn't have done anything, but I was so pumped full of adrenaline I couldn't think straight. I almost shouted our safe word. I think you noticed, do you remember what you said to me?"

You had some confusing black feelings for her at the moment, and you became aware of them at the rapid blood pumping speed of your wriggly erection. You were going off the instinctual urge to smear your pheromones all over her so every troll in the vicinity would know you won the shit out of a sex battle, but you also wanted her to know you hadn't gone to crazy primal troll town. You tossed the sickle away and leaned down towards her to close the distance. You were struggling to regain your breath so it took a frankly insane amount of effort to say the words, ‘Jade, let me, please.’

"I asked politely."

"You did! And that was the hottest part for me, gosh, it's so hard to explain that look you had, but you were _shaking_ , Karkat. You looked like you wanted to fuck me for hours without care or concern! You always put me first so I was really surprised you wanted something for yourself. I'm so glad I said yes."

You have never been more efficient than when you tore her bloomers off that day. It was about five seconds before you were inside her, fucking her like you were a teen and the pail collection drones were going to show up at your door in ten minutes. You gave her about six million hickeys in record time.

"You actually came before me, which never happens. It was the absolute worst when you stopped moving for like two minutes and I had to wait for you to finish. I swear I thought I was going to be edged to death by your super long troll orgasm."

"Pretty sure I made that up to you immediately after."

"Ooohhh? Did you?" she says. She tilts her head so you can see her shit-eating grin. "How'd you do that?"

You grin back. You pull yourself out of her so fast she makes a peep noise, then you sit up on your knee, bend, grab her legs, and sling them over your shoulders. You try to be forceful about it like your past-self was, which is a hard thing for you when you're not hyped up on bloodthirsty troll hormones. Jade chants "< _Yes, yes, yes!_ >" as you straighten up to a kneeling position. She's pulled along with you, which puts all her weight on her upper back and shoulders while you hold her thighs tight around your head.

She tastes like a mix of you and her, which is the kind of nasty selfcest kink you can get behind. You don’t mess around, you go straight for her clit. You run your tongue around it, sort of suck in, the way she likes it. Jade doesn’t get a lot of wiggle room since you’re basically holding her hostage upside down, but she makes it clear she’s enjoying the process by huffing out “You’re so good, Karkat”s and “Please don’t stop”s and most importantly “Yes, yes, yes”s at regular intervals. It isn’t long at all before she’s coming in that sudden, hard, intense way humans do. You always wonder what that feels like, to you it just looks like Jade’s having a seizure.

You hold her in place until she’s done, then slowly bend and let her get her legs off of you. You lay next to her, head on the pillows, and pull the blanket back up to cover the both of you. The wind howls at the windows, but you’re toasty fucking warm in her arms. She brushes back your hair.

“Your turn,” she says, utterly content. She yawns. “What was your favorite fantasy of me during the Great Big Perigree Apart?” 

"Uh... You sit on my face for like, two fucking hours."

She frowns. "That's it?"

"Something wrong with face sitting? We don't all have to have elaborate fantasies all the time, you know."

“No, it’s just something…” She yawns again, covering her mouth. “… I’m not sure I’m up to. You can keep pailing me though, I don’t care if I fall asleep.”

“I care. I like fucking you into a sleepy puddle of contentment but it’s a bulge-killer if you aren’t awake enough to react.”

“Mmmm,” Jade sighs. She finds your bulge under the blankets, starts to stroke it. You feel only a little bit, like a warm pulsing motion in your hips. “< _But it’s no fair if you don’t come too._ >”

“It’s fine, it’d take me another hour,” you reply. “Besides, I already had a sexually explicit experience today.”

“< _Oh yeah, we gotta… talk about that… tomorrow._ >” She continues to stroke your bulge, pathetically, like her hand is giving up on her. You get yourself in the mood to calm down and stop being so aroused by giving her gentle, tired kisses. Thanks to your weird ass nervous system, you aren’t forced by any biological process to associate ‘genital-touching’ with ‘erotic stimulation.’ It all depends on the way you frame it in your head. You choose to frame it as more a massage than a turn on.

“< _You don’t have to stroke my bulge,_ >” you say.

“Sure I do… It’s like… like a crotchety old… furry lap pet. Gotta pet it to sleep.”

You make a face at her, but she doesn’t see it. You take her glasses off and set them aside. “Don’t compare my bulge to a ‘cat.’ The word in that context is ‘cat,’ by the way, and there’s your Alternian vocabulary lesson for today.”

That awful simile made your bulge sheathe itself, so she succeeded, technically. You’re quite close to her, and even in the dark you can see her eyes are shut. “< _Despite how much you suck at my language, I really did miss you,_ >” you whisper. You stroke back the hair in her face.

She replies, slow and raspy and with a tone that makes butterflies beat themselves into a stupor in your chest, “I missed you too.”

You only get to revel in the sanctity of that moment for a brief second, as Jade promptly pulls her arm out from under the covers, paps your face, and wipes the pre-slurry she got on her hand all over your cheek. She says “heh, heh,” snorts, and promptly falls asleep.

She’s such an ass.


	7. What A Tangled Web We Weave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important for new readers: 
> 
> Kankri is a biomancer, someone extremely overpowered who can control all living things.

Morning comes too soon.

Soft pillows, soft sheets, soft heart. You’re an insult to the troll race.

It takes her a while to wake up, unlike you, who wakes up like a vengeful poltergeist bursting out of a tomb. But it’s one of the few times where you don’t mind being patient. You listen to the sheets rustle, listen to her make those adorable sleepy ‘mmm’ noises, watch her struggle to blink her eyes open. You nudge her with your cheek if it looks like she’s going to fall back asleep, kiss her everywhere within reach. She always kisses back.

“Morning,” she eventually whispers to you. Your heart floats in your chest. “How’d you sleep?”

“Poorly,” you lie. “Although waking up next to you is a mediocre consolation prize.”

“Well I slept, um, not at all, and waking up to your ugly mug made it _worse_ , you loser,” she giggles. She pulls you to her as close as she can, so her still-naked breasts are pressed tight to your chest. Which is fucking awesome and probably on your list of top ten physical sensations. As the top two entries. One for each boob.

You kiss her, she reciprocates, but through makeouts she manages to tell you, “What, no comeback? Lame!”

“Too early for my superior wit,” you worm your hand up between the both of you, fondle her, make her sigh. “Too distracted. Do you want to…? I’m more than fucking willing to go at it again.”

“Yes please! Oh, wait, I’d better check the time first… Get on the other side of the bed so I can cast my spell.”

You manage to somehow reverse the magnet polarity of your bodies and roll away from her. She props herself up on her elbows, lying on her stomach, and draws a circle in the air. Her green magic crackles, and a small clockface appears, 8:40AM. She waves it away, looks at you like a sad puppy.

“Bleh, we can’t. I have to do wedding stuff soon,” she scoots herself under the blankets back towards you, and wraps her arms around you. “But I’ve got a little time. < _I’ve been dying to hear about your knighthood test. How’d it go?_ >”

You’re real close to her, she smells like _her,_ earthy and feral, you missed it. “ < _Fine. I’m a knight again, and it was surprisingly painless. Didn’t even slip and accidentally lob off my spinelump with my own sickle. Let’s all give a big ‘hip-hip-horray’ for pointless titles._ >”

“< _It’s not pointless and you know it! Now you have a right to be my knight. Did you get that cool seal ring back? The one that looks like a bloody cut over the 69?_ >”

You feel yourself turning red, and not at the mention of ‘69.’ You hug her a little tighter. “< _I got a new ring made. Didn’t you see it?_ >”

She grins. “Nope! Did you get a ring with my face on it?”

“I- What? No! That is the most ridiculous-”

“Then show me!” She scrambles up and over you, lunges for the pile of clothes you left near the bed. You try to grab her legs to pull her back into bed, but she plants the heel of her foot into your cheek and you can’t fight her due to the sudden jarring realization that you would totally be into her stepping on your face. She begins digging through the hidden pockets on your green skirt. It’s a whole two seconds before she’s chanting, “< _Cold, cold, cold, cold,_ >” but it doesn’t slow her down. You don’t help her, she dug her own goddamn grave. You laugh at her when she finds it, and her glasses, and books it back under the covers.

She puts her glasses on her nose, shivering. You’re essentially a thousand degree bar of iron so you generously share your heat with her through the fine art of hugging. She holds the ring out, between the two of you, so she can see. A gold star over a silver moon, on a band of white gold. 

She rotates it, the tiny gems twinkle in the morning sun. Her face is relaxed, you can’t read it. She looks like she zoned out of existence. “< _Moon and stars,_ >” she whispers, almost subconsciously.

Then her face splits into the biggest shit-eating grin in the whole universe.

You sputter, your face turns into an inferno. “< _Don’t say one goddamn fucking word!_ >”

She smacks her hands to her puffed out cheeks. “Awwwwwwwwwww-”

“< _I said not a-_ >”

“-wwwwwwwwwwwwwwww-”

“< _Shut up!_ >”

“-wwwwwwwwwwwwwwww Karkat, that is the _cutest_ thing! I don’t even know what to do with myself!”

“It’s not cute,” you lie. “They threw away my old crest ring and I was tired of the cut plastered over the rotated ‘69.’ Do you know how many godawful pailing jokes were thrown my way because of past-me’s hideous accessorising? At least this way I won’t have to deal with lewd gestures thrown at me every waking minute of my life.”

She pointedly stares at the ring, pointedly stares at you, wiggles her eyebrows, then makes a lewd gesture. You are not amused.

“< _I can tell by your squirmy frond nubs that one of those things is supposed to be my bulge, but other than that I have no idea what the fuck you’re soliciting me for._ >”

“< _Just me wanting to show you how much I like your ring,_ >” she laughs. She takes your left hand, pushes the seal onto your ring finger. “< _But actually, thank you. You’re so sweet… I feel all fluttery. I feel really loved._ >”

“< _Don’t thank me, I’ve done fuck all for you as of now,_ >” you say, moving your ring over to your right hand. Jade must not know which hand the knight seal is supposed to go on. She frowns as you move it. “But get ready to bow deeply and thank me in T minus thirty seconds, because I’ve got a _stellar_ gift to give you. Had it made special and everything.”

Her face brightens up. “Ooo, I’m excited!”

Just as you start to get up, the paper sliding door to Jade’s room slams open. You duck back down into the blankets. Feferi bursts in like a screeching tyrian purple cake dragon. She’s carrying a black outfit, presumably for you, since one of the pants legs is trimmed at the thigh.

“I knew you’d be in here! I didn’t even check in your old room, that’s how certain I was!” She says, her twelve petticoats making newspaper noises as they rustle along the wood floor.

Jade gathers some of the blanket around her and sits up. “Sorry, Feferi! I’ll be there soon, I was just enjoying the morning.”

“Actually, I need Karkat right now! I need him to sign something,” she pulls out a piece of paper from her cleavage, pointedly folds it so you can’t read the contents and can only see the bottom of it, and kneels down to where you are.

You roll onto your stomach to look at it. “What am I signing it with?”

“Your BLOOD! To prove it’s you!”

Your face scrunches up. “Call me crazy, but now it sounds like you’re trying to get me to sign a contract to condemn my eternal soul to one of the nineteen greater troll hells. Tell me what it’s for.”

“Royal business! Just DO it, Karkat, gosh!” says Feferi, rolling her eyes.

With every ounce of your knight training you can muster on short notice, you lash out and yank the paper from Feferi’s hands. She says, “Hey!” and tries to grab it back. You sit up, unfold it, and hold it well out of her reach as you read the letter.

“ _Dear Kankri,_

 _Hey, it’s me, Karkat! Guess what? My witch is getting married to Erifin, and even though I’m totally and inevitably going to be a crab about it I still want it to be perfectly adorabubble for her! Which means you, my very FAVORITE hemospectrum sharer-er, should be there! It would mean so much to me! Hugs and smooches,_ ”

And then there’s a blank space for you to sign. You hand it back to her. She takes it, shamefully, looking down at the mattress.

“Is this supposed to sound like me? Because this is a clusterfuck of slander,” you say.

“Why do you want to get Kankri here?” asks Jade, who sounds just as objected to this forgery farce as you are.

“Um, well,” says Feferi, tapping her long nails against the floor. She chews on her lip with her two sets of needle teeth, then collects herself. “Well! It’s because we want some extra seacurity in case if somefin goes wrong at the wedding! And Karkat, you’re the only troll here who can request Kankri’s attendance without it being suspicious.”

Jade tilts her head, narrows her eyes. “Why would something go wrong at the wedding?”

“Dunno!” shrugs Feferi. “He’s just going to be a safety net! But now that you know… How about it, Karkat? Help a gill out? Juuuuust in case somebody tries to off me?”

You fold your arms, protecting your precious blood stream. “Fuck no, Kankri’s easier to kill than even _me._ If you’re suspecting some horrible troll related drama to go down at a climatic moment, he’s going to be a serious liability.”

“Pfft, fine,” mutters Feferi. “Guess it’s plan B then.”

You see Jade open her mouth to probably ask what plan B is, but Feferi claps her hands loudly and stands up in a rush. “Shell, gotta motor! Jade, I’ll see you in fifteen in the Magenta Room for squadron seventy-tuna signoffs! And Karkat? I got you a change of clothes so you don’t have to walk of shame the whale week. Even though you’re a fishy butt who didn’t sign my NICE and PERFECTLY IN CHARACTER letter.”

Jade groans. Feferi hands you a pile of clothes. When she leaves, Jade slumps back into bed.

“Squadron 72?” you ask. You pat Jade’s back.

“< _It’s part of Eridan’s flotilla. I have to sign off and review every stupid sub-rank he’s got in his possession. I don’t know why my mom wants that many ships._ >”

“< _Incompetent fuck like that can’t have *that* many. How many boats does he have?_ >”

“< _8,000._ >”

If you were drinking something, you’d have spit it out right now. “Holy nooksack, and he manages to keep that whole navy alive without necromancy?”

Jade sits up. “I know, right!? It’s so weird! Apparently he’s some kind of aquatic tactical genius! Who ever thought?”

You manage to both tug yourselves out of bed and get dressed. Your new outfit is cut nearly the same, where the skirt wraps around you and hides your prosthetic, but it’s got more ornate knot buttons around the collar. As you’re tying one, Jade comes up from behind and hugs you around the waist.

“Hey, could you do me a favor?”

“Depends, moon and stars,” you say. You manage to weave it through the loop.

“< _Would you find out what happened to John? I’m worried._ >”

You turn to her. She’s wearing a different Eridan-colored ballgown. Eugh. “< _If it involves me stalking the streets of this forbidden palace like a chain rattling ghost I might have to decline. Really, really, really don’t want to get forked in the digester box again._ >”

“< _Condy’s not going to fork you anymore! Now that she knows I’m not going to marry Eridan without having you at my side, she won’t take the risk of killing you again._ >”

“< _Yeah, but that won’t stop her from chaining me up in the basement by my ankles until you wed him, then culling the daylights out of me afterwords._ >” You pause, she bites her lip. You sigh. “< _I’ll look anyway. But here’s a puzzler for you: I know what your human custodian is getting out of this wedding, but what about Her Imperious Forkmeister? You definitely don’t have a flotilla. If you do, I’m going to ship-shame you for hours for not telling me about it._ >”

She giggles. “No, I don’t have a flotilla.” Her voice grows dour. “The Condescension is getting something a little more subtle out of the marriage: security. Mom’s not going to attack Alternia if her daughter is married to one of the top ranking military officers, _and especially not_ if her son-and-future heir is married into one of the most powerful necromancer bloodlines that ever existed. And it especially guarantees security if the Condesce knows exactly where two out of four heirs of the throne are at any given time, when Eridan will snap my neck under orders if Mom pisses the Condesce off. And that’s super important to her! I’ve done some of the calculations, and while Alternia is strong, it’s not quite strong enough to take over Earthen country yet. The Condesce is definitely bloodthirsty, but she knows when to store up her forces for… another day, for certain victory. Maybe she'll attack when the next patrician… maybe a kinder, more peaceful patrician… takes the human throne.”

She stares down at the ground, thinking about John. Jade’s right. John would make a great human king if he never had to go to war. But when there’s a long lived tyrian after that throne- fuck, he’s toast.

“Heavy shit,” you say. 

She nods. “I want to protect him. And you, and Feferi, and Rose and Terezi and Dave and Jane and Jake, and even Eridan.”

You feel a candle flicker on in your mind’s eye. “I get it now, why you want to get into this political intrigue garbage. Because John Egbert is a total fucking moron, and his moronic happy-go-lucky decisions will kill him and three quarters of humanity once his mother dies and he’s got to take over a throne the Condesce’s wanted for eons.”

Jade nods rapidly.

“Even worse,” you continue, following down a dank spiral of terrible possibilities. “< _Mrs. Vriska Egbert will know *exactly* what to do with that throne._ >”

Jade nods so hard it looks like her head is going to fly off across the room.

You groan. “< _Fuck it, give Jane the fancy chair, she’d have the Condesce under her boot in a perigree._ >”

That makes Jade laugh. “She doesn’t want to, she’s an entrepreneur! Also she’s like, _way_ more prone to assassination attempts, John at least inherited all of Mom’s weirdo breath magic.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s real fucking easy to forget how powerful someone is when you’re immune to everything they can throw at you.”

“Pssh, whatever, you’re the exception. As long as _you_ don’t try to cull John, then I think he’s safe! From… most things, anyway.”

She holds out her arm. “< _It’s about time. Walk me to the Magenta Room?_ >”

You take it, wrap your arm around hers. “Anything, witch.”

She ends up more-or-less walking _you_ , because you’re an idiot who doesn’t know how maps and directions work. The floor turns to pearly, swirly tile again as you walk towards the center of the massive palace complex. There are more murals on the wall the further you walk, murals of the twelve god animal avatars. You haven’t seen a crab, but you don’t expect to— your patron god is called “the secret god” for a reason. Also, there is a 0% chance that Jade _wouldn’t_ point at it and say ‘look, it’s you, crabby mc crab crab!’ and you would just _have_ to cause a scene at that point.

None of the trolls that pass you are the Condesce, and they don’t seem to care about your eye color. You feel pretty damn good about being able to find John in safety when you eventually reach the Magenta Room. The paper door to it is faded to a more mauve color. Jade stops in front of it, turns to you, kisses you on the cheek.

“< _I’ll see you tonight,_ >” she says, squeezing your hand goodbye. “< _If you want, you can go wait in my room after you find John and-_ >”

She’s interrupted by a the sound of something heavy falling inside the Magenta Room, and the unmistakable screech of Feferi Peixes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR I'M GOING TO FINISH THIS FIC, HNNGNGNNNNGGG


	8. PB&J (the sandwich)

Jade slams the door open. The crime scene is as follows:

Eridan Ampora has his wand out, is in a battle stance, and is glaring at the nearest frosty mauve-tinted window. Near him and the window, a redwood table is knocked over. Feferi Peixes stands on the other side of the magenta-colored room, wailing her little lungs out and slapping her hands against her stomach as hard as she can. When you and Jade step into the room and circle towards the front of Feferi, you see what she's trying to do to herself.

There is a large, black sphere in the middle of her waist. As Feferi tries to pull it off, or whatever the hell she's trying to accomplish, black smoke is pulled from the circle and transfered onto the palms of her hands. It takes you a second to realize what it is-- it's not just a solid black sticker some prankster decided to slap on the heir to the Alternian throne. It's a literal hole. And it's growing bigger, sucking in her clothes and skin around it.

"< _Karkat, it's a void spell!_ >" yells Jade. "< _That’s a permanent death! You've got to stop it!_ >"

You’re fucking _on it_. You run to Feferi, slam your hands into the black hole on her stomach. There's a brief second where your fingertips disappear into what feels like a icy puddle of water, then the void makes a whistling sound like a tea kettle boiling over. Feferi’s body slams back into existence where the sphere was, but it's not skin or piles of purple clothing you feel under your palms. It's something wet and squishy, sort of feels like lukewarm grub-spaghetti. Your lip curls up straight past your gums when you look at your hands.

Feferi stares down at the hole left in her body, at the tyrian menagerie of lopsided organs you’re currently firmly planted inside of. "Oh, fishsticks," she manages to croak before fainting.

You catch her by her hands, where some of the spell transfered to. The voids on her palms vanish in a puff of black smoke. The spell didn't reside there for long, so all that was taken from her was the top layer of skin. Doesn't stop the neon tyrian blood from gushing all over your black outfit. People are going to think you slaughtered Condy, which is equal parts cool and horrifying.

You set Feferi down flat on the ground, and you sit down next to her. Your surgeon instincts take over and you start to rip off a few of her petticoats. You hear Jade and Eridan argue behind you.

"Did you do this!?" screams Jade. "Did you cast that awful spell!?"

"I swear to Death themselves it wasn't me! Some fuck just appeared outta nowhere and cast it! Couldn't do a damn thing!"

"I don't believe you!"

"Well you gotta, 'cuz you're marryin' me!"

Jade makes a loud groaning noise. "< _I'm going to find a healer! Can you keep her alive, Karkat?_ >"

You plop the stack of cloth onto her stomach, push down as light as you can, try to halt the waterfalls of blood without care or concern for best sanitary practice. You watch Feferi struggle to breathe. You can basically count the beats of her pulse just by staring at her throat. "Two minutes maximum, but don't get your hopes up with my piss-poor medicinal skills," you say.

You hear Eridan say, "That's it? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of doctor?" as Jade's teleportation powers make their distinctive crackling noise. “Tell me she’s gonna be alright.”

“That’s a lot of fucking care and concern for someone you clearly tried to off.” You tear off a small strip of cloth, wrap it around one of her palms. It feels like trying to plug a broken dam with a extra small fantasy-band-aid but it's better than nothing. 

“Excuse you, peasant, why would I kill my beloved Fef’?” He yells. It sounds like he hasn’t moved from his spot by the window. You’re not scared in the least. Even if he did try to perma-kill Feferi —which looks pretty fucking likely— what can his magic-casting self do to you? Can’t beat you in a fucking fistfight, where it counts. You tear off another strip of petticoat. “Well, uh, wait, I mean, why would I kill Fef’ if she didn’t give me a good reason to? That time when she was with that dweeby mustard troll didn’t count. Or that _other_ time with the same dweeby mustard troll. And I defs wouldn’t kill her _forever_.”

“I can’t believe I just listened to you pull a shovel from your asshole and dig a seven foot hole underneath your own feet,” you say. You bandage up the other palm. "As someone who once had a matesprit who was president of the tween troll detective agency in Porkmor-Khan, I am using my highest authority as a Super Sleuth Associate to declare you massively guilty."

Jade teleports back into the room. You turn to her— she brought Jane in a baby-blue robe and nightgown, plus horned worm fuzzy slippers. She’s still got the tiara on, she probably sleeps in it. She looks miffed until she sees Feferi. Her brows furrow, she growls, and her hands light up with her healing magic.

“< _Move!_ > she says, and she's too jacked full of adrenaline to let your slow, handicapped ass stand up, so she elbows you aside and kneels in your place. You fall over like a sad domino.

She rips the petticoats off Feferi’s stomach, doesn’t even flinch at the mess underneath, and flings her hands open, palms down. Blue magic like lightning crackles into Feferi, dances across the hole like they’re stitches from an over-efficient seamstress hyped up on too much caffeine. Some blue crackles onto the floor, onto your outfit, sucks up all the blood left on you and pulls it back into Feferi. You watch bright blue organs reform themselves, then muscles, then a layer of neon skin. Jane closes her palms, the skin flashes to gray beneath the hole left in Feferi’s dress. Her breath slows to normal, her hands stop bleeding under your bad bandaging job. Jane sighs, shakes her arms out, then slowly stands up.

< _Sorry, dearie,_ > she says to you. “< _I didn’t quite mean to knock you over like that, I simply wanted to get to her as soon as possible! I wouldn’t want her to die without a death priestess in the area._ >”

She offers you both hands. You don’t take them, you instead take your sweet time standing up by yourself with your slow, handicapped ass. Jane coughs awkwardly.

“< _Well, Feferi will wake up soon,_ >” says Jane. “< _She’s taking a normal nap now. Do you need me for anything else?_ >”

“< _Nope, that’s all, thank you sooooo much,_ >” says Jade. “< _I’m sure Feferi will want to thank you too, later. Do you want me to teleport me back to your room?_ >”

Jane stretches, then yawns. “< _Thank you for the offer, but no. I could use a morning walk to get the joints going._ >”

And with that, she leaves the room. On cue, both you and Jade snap your heads towards Eridan.

“Alright, fess up,” says Jade. “Window’s closed, you’re the only one in the room, why’d you do it?”

“I’m _offended_ , you tart,” says Eridan, clutching his hand to his chest. “I said it wasn’t me, you gotta believe me!”

“Then who was it!?” says Jade. You both take a few steps closer to him, for the intimidation factor.

“It was… some… yellow haired broad!” He says, gesturing like an opera singer. “Human. Sorta brownish skin.”

“Hate to break it to you, but out of all the species you could have picked a human is a pretty unlikely one in a castle full of trolls,” you say. “I don’t think-”

“No, he’s right,” says a quiet voice behind you. You both turn to look at Feferi, who is sitting up and rubbing the back of her head. “It wasn’t him. It was a blond gill. Came in and out as quick as you, Jade.”

Then you watch her do something you’ve never seen her do before, which is look serious. Which is looking like someone who could possibly rule an empire one day. She folds her hands in front of her face, and without a trace of any shitty fish puns she whispers, "But why now? I've been a good girl. I've been bowing down to every stupid little request she has. She's got no reason to doubt me."

And just like that, it’s gone. She flashes you a grin. “Sea? That’s why you’ve gotta get Kankri here! Who knows what other horrible threats wait on the horizon for poor poor me?”

“I am *not* authorizing Kankri’s presence, if he were here right now, he’d already be dead as a doorknob and being possessed by one of a billion noble cerulean-blooded necromancers who are currently stalking the palace.”

Feferi makes a pouty face. “Well, okay, you pooper. But if you don’t get Kankri here, that means you gotta make it up to me! The wedding rehershell is coming up tonight, and you’ve got to attend with me! And since we’re both < _bridesmaids_ > you’ve got to sit right next to me the whooooole time! Right! Next! To! Me!”

You didn’t know there was a wedding rehearsal, but you would have skipped it anyway. You know that it’s going to involve the Condescension somehow, in some way, and you can’t believe Feferi had the fucking gall to ask you to attend the rehearsal while the murder queen of the universe is probably on a vengeance quest for you. She grins again, and you’re about to plant a metaphorical boot in her face when you notice something. The corner of her mouth is twitching like she’s in the midst of a seizure. Her hands are clenched around the remnants of her skirt so tight her knuckles are a dusty pink color. She’s nervous. She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want to be absorbed into an unstoppable black hole. Your shitty, poor-excuse-for-a-troll heart starts to bleed.

You groan, clutch at your hair, hating yourself. “Fine, fuck it, fine. I’ll be there. I’ll be right there, holding your hand like an inept babysitter protecting you from void-holes ripped in the universe. No guarantees.”

Feferi squeals, claps her hands. Jade pats you on the shoulder. She turns to Eridan.

“So how’d you totally fail at stopping an assassination, then?”

“Not all of us can be a glass cannon on roller skates like Kar’. I’m more of the heavy artillery kinda guy, you know? Besides, I was sorta distracted,” he says, walking over to the table. He pulls it upright, revealing hundreds of sheets of paper scattered underneath it. He begins to shuffle them into order. With a stomach-curdling earnestness he says, “I’m just too fuckin’ excited to go through my armada related affairs again.” 

Jade groans. You make a move to leave and go look for John like you were originally assigned to do, but you’re stopped by Feferi’s lower lip trembling. You look at Jade, who nods, and you end up staying for the whole bureaucratic process as the worlds laziest bodyguard. You pay a negligible amount of attention to the meeting because you thankfully had a pocket book of poetry shoved in your pants. You only really listen to the others during the delicious catered breakfast, which consists of raw rainbow-blooded grub hatch eggs and a hefty bitter flower and cucumber salad. Jade only eats the vegetables. You talk about what happened last night, which Eridan seems oddly reluctant to gab about in front of Feferi. He says he sailed John back to Skalligre, which takes a load off your worried mind, but Vriska stayed on the ghost ship.

You all sit at the table, you and Feferi on one side, Eridan and Jade on the other. The parts of the process that you overhear seem to go as such: Jade and Eridan argue about confusing naval jargon for a while, Eridan _way too happily_ lists off every single major battle an individual fleet has been in, Jade signs a contract with a unique magical signature, and Feferi stamps it with some kind of royal seal. A couple of Feferi’s guards show up at some point, too late to be of any sort of use, and low-blooded runners occasionally pop in and grab a stack of papers from Jade and scurry off to who knows where with them. You read. You wait. Eventually they get through the whole pile of naval manuscripts.

When they finish, Feferi lets you go free. She says, “Thank you for staying! I feel a whole lot beta, I think I’ll be fine with my guards in the afternoon… but I still want you around later. Find me an hour before the rehershell, I’ll be in my room. See you guys then!” 

You and Jade begin your epic quest for John soon after. It turns out to be grotesquely anticlimactic, as he’s in the first place you check… his guest room.

He’s sitting on the ground, reading a book, and eating a crustless whitebread sandwich pulled from a plate of what appears to contain at least ten more of the same crustless sandwich. His room is similar to Jade’s room, in that it’s long and covered in windows and only contains a mattress. A brief question of where Vriska sleeps flits through your mind, and you stamp it down because imagining Vriska having intimate relations in a similar location to where you had intimate relations is the most disgusting thing you’ve thought of all week. John waves his sandwich around at the both of you when you walk in. He’s wearing an extremely fancy outfit for such a plebian meal, he’s got a half-cape and a gold laurel crown on.

“< _Hey guys, want any PB &J? I don’t know why they gave me so many… Oh, and none of ‘em are poisoned, I checked already._ >”

Jade sits down across from him, you follow suit. “< _Okay,_ >” you say, grabbing a sandwich. “< _Why are you so goddamn chipper? Last we saw you you were trapped in a snowstorm with a skeleton and a crazy hell girl, and I know for a fact you definitely got less sleep than I did._ >”

He laughs. “< _Lots of coffee helps. But we totally beat Mindfang and scored a sweet boat, so I’m all hyped up on excitement still._ >”

"< _That’s great! But…_ >" says Jade, taking a bite of her sandwich. "< _What happened to Vriska?_ >"

"< _Oh, I let her sail off with the ship, didn't come with._ >" He shrugs. "< _I sort of only went along with the plan because it gives her something to do besides for try to sneakily wrastle my territory away from me. I mean, she thinks I don't know what she's up to, but I totally know what she's up to._ >"

Jade sighs with relief. "< _Oh my gods, John. I thought you didn't know either! I thought she was going to try to make you some kind of puppet ruler of hers later on... You like her so much, I didn't want to tell you._ >"

"< _Aw, you could have told me!_ >" John laughs. "< _But that'll never happen. She's nuts._ >"

You always assumed John was too dense to realize Vriska was a threat to him, but apparently that assumption's been punched into the sun. That puts a whole new skew on past events. A massive skew. You’re pretty sure Vriska’s confident in John thinking she’s _completely sane_. It'd be real damn close to manipulation, but he was never actually lying about anything. He was never pretending to be dense in front of her, or you, it's just that the way he acts like everything is a fun! life! experience! colors your perception. And Vriska's, apparently. 

"< _My thinkpan is blown into bits,_ >" you say. You bite into the sandwich— grub butter and grub loaf sandwiches are far superior to this culinary drivel. "< _Why the fuck even bother with her if you know she's probably going to try and usurp you at some point?_ >"

"< _Hmm, that's a good question, Karkat!_ > he says. He takes a thoughtful bite. "< _I think it's because, well, I'm going to be the ruler of my mom's human kingdom one day, right? But I'm not particularly good at pre-planning, or utilizing my resources to the best of their abilities. So that's where Vriska comes in. She looooooooves working out tactical situations, and I have a fun time working with her. I think we make a good team! But it’s my job to make sure she uses her talents for… productive stuff._ >"

“Uh…” Jade turns to you. “That’s really weird. John’s totally going to be poisoned or something one day.”

“Fucking seconded,” you reply.

“You guys know I can speak Alternian, right?” he says.

“Poorly,” you say.

“And also that I’m right here, in front of you!?” he waves his sandwich around some more. “And you losers are giving me an attitude! I didn’t hear a ‘thank you, Lord John, for this delicious blessing of sandwich on this fine winter noon.’”

You flip him off, and Jade laughs.

John snaps with his non-sandwich hand. "Hey, by the way, did Feferi talk to you about getting Kankri here? We kind of got to rush it since the ceremony's in a couple days but I think we can manage."

"Yeah, I signed it with a 'fuck no' and a kissy face. It was moronic with moronic reasoning. She spouted some garbage about 'security' and 'not getting assassinated' but we're ten hours too late for that one."

"Oh, ha, that's what she said?" John takes the time to chuckle at a joke that's a mystery to you. "I mean, she didn't want to tell you what it's all actually about because of 'state secrets' or whatever, but, like, I really think you'll change your mind and agree to sign that letter if I tell you what's up. < _Since the alternative kind of sucks, ol' buddy ol' pal._ > Anyway, we're-"

John is interrupted by a rustblooded troll with corkscrew horns hurling open the door, waving a piece of paper like it's a declaration of war. She skids to a stop near you, then bows deeply, holding out what appears to be a royally sealed letter to John over the plate of PB&Js.

"< _Your majestic business bean,_ >" says the troll, with the worst Common you've ever heard. "< _Flat ink carrier of urgent information holding delivery from boobed crowned human custodian._ >"

"Meri," says John in Orlesion, prankster's gambit skyrocketing. He takes the letter. "Vou sav ile nie pontrevou."

The troll snaps her head up. "Uh."

You say, "He said go fuck yourself."

The troll, who is probably used to similar orders from every seadweller in the whole damn place, nods seriously, and takes her leave.

"He was just kidding!" John calls out after her. "I appreciate you and your work!"

She shuts the door behind her. John cracks open the wax seal on the letter and begins to read.

“Karkat, I am sure glad you’ve got a good grasp of Common,” says Jade, crossing her arms. “You’d be even more insufferable if you had to use all those weird roundabout Alternian phrases all the time.”

“< _What nonexistent sense are you moving betwixt your lip flaps? Fuck your opaque skin expresser._ >”

“< _Oh fine, have it your way._ > _Gastro-pluck-pull-tangle-stab-blood-blood-vandal!_ ”

“Stop saying ‘murder’ wrong, you shit!”

You’ve got John in the corner of your eye as you chat, and you watch the line of his mouth go from a smile to a flat line to a frown as he reads his letter. And it’s not the shallow ‘boo-hoo’ frown you often see with lesser emotions, this is the sort of open mouth frown you get when you realized you just committed a horrible crime. Like accidentally killing someone, or misplacing something expensive that belonged to a friend.

“Is something wrong, John?” asks Jade.

“< _Yeah,_ >” he says, with a quiet, deadpan voice you’ve never heard on him before. “< _Where’s Mom?_ >”

“< _She’s here, she’s either in the main guest suite or with the Condesce._ >”

John stands up, his half-cape billowing around him in a wind you don’t feel. He drops the letter on top of the sandwiches, some jelly stains the white. He hovers, a couple inches off the ground, and the dead-set look on his face tells you that he doesn’t realize he’s floating. It looks like he’s committed himself to driving a carriage off a cliff. The door slams open in that same unfelt wind, and John flies out of the room at light speed. The plate of sandwiches is knocked over in the gust, the sheets fly off the mattress, and Jade has to struggle to stay upright. You don’t feel a thing, you’re immune to whatever ballsy wind tricks John tries to pull. The door slides shut behind him. Sudden silence hits you like a brick in the face.

Jade finds the letter a few yards away. She reads it, frowning, but not with the same sort of frown John had. This is definitely a lesser frown. She comes to sit down near you, crosslegged, your metal knee touches hers.

“What’s it say?”

“< _It says John’s dad is jailed in Porkmor-Kahn for high treason, under orders from the top. That’s our mom._ >” says Jade. “< _He’s slated for execution._ >”

You know that Jade’s father isn’t the same as John’s father, and neither of them are the permanent partners of the horrifyingly bicycle-like Patrician Crocker. She does like putting heirs in high places. You fucking hate human reproduction. “Wait, what? On a scale of one to ‘sense’ that’s at a negative three. Why the fuck would the Patrician lock up an old flame?”

“Well, he’s always been a supporter for some things that my mom never liked. Like unions. And clowns. But I don’t think those things are serious enough for execution. I don’t know why she would do that.”

She taps her finger against her chin. “But if she was always planning on executing John’s dad, then it makes sense she’d try it now. John’s always in Porkmor-Khan, but now he’s away and way less able to put a stop to it. I mean, it’s possible, but…”

“Not likely,” you finish. She nods. She sighs, long and hard, then slowly collapses into you, sinking her head into your shoulder. You rest yours on top of hers, find her hand, lace your fingers. She’s warm and smells like jam.

“< _Poor John,_ >” she says. “< _I want to help, but I don’t know what I can do. I’m already so tired of this nonsense, I wish I could fix it all. Maybe I’ll talk to Mom at the rehearsal tonight. I don’t know what John’s going to do, but maybe I can… I dunno._ >”

You turn, press your lips against her forehead. She reaches for another sandwich.

“Let’s just, like, drown our sorrows in peanut butter,” she says.

You do.


	9. Art Class

"We should make a plan on what to do to help our friends, instead of just waiting around," says Jade. "Let's make a chart. Karkat, will you make a chart?"

You stare at the pen and paper she holds out to you. "No, fuck you, I hate charts."

"Well you draw all these shipping charts for your books, so I thought you might want to make one for all our irons in the fire?"

You shudder. "Please don't use Vriska phrases, I feel like every time we vaguely reference her existence she'll pop out of nowhere and drag us into a horrible scheme."

Jade blinks. "Oh, huh, I thought that was a John phrase."

You snatch the pen and paper from her anyway, lay it down on the floor of her room. She teleported the both of you back here when John blew a gasket, and since seadwellers apparently haven't heard of normal furniture you're both lounging around on the mattress. You sort of have to hang of off it in order to get a hard writing surface for your pen. You start drawing a chart.

Jade rolls against you, laying on her stomach, to look at your chart. "< _Why does Vriska get her own category?_ >"

"Because I just fucking know she's going to come out of the woodwork when we least expect it, worm her way into every possible conspiracy that is currently happening at this very moment, and suddenly ascend past the peak of 'immediate problem' and into 'catastrophic cataclysm causer.'"

Jade laughs, _laughs_ , at your completely serious accusation. "Oh come on, she's bad but she's not evil!"

You look at Jade like she just killed your beloved pet. "She stole an uber-powerful ghost pirate ship from a millennia-old sociopath skeleton and is currently sailing, undetected, through nearby mountain lakes with it! Tell me that's not a problem."

"It's not a problem, John said he wanted her to do that because it keeps her distracted," she says. "Anyway, even if she is going to hypothetically complicate stuff in the future, she's not really putting our friends in danger right now. Let's focus on those two immediate problems."

She points at the Feferi item. "Feferi knows who tried to cull her, don't you think, Karkat? And I think she's known for a while, judging by how she tried to get Kankri here-" Jade points at the item about Kankri. "-but she hasn't known long enough to make arrangements _before_ she arrived at Skalligre. Eridan didn't seem to know who the human trying to assassinate Feferi was, but I guess he could be lying, since I have no idea who he's loyal to." Jade pauses to think, her ears flicking away some unseen threat. " _Especially_ if someone important is the one behind the attempt. Like, if for some reason the Condescension is after Feferi, which of the two do you think would get Eridan loyalty?"

"Probably the one who's going to win," you say. "Which, considering how many muscles the Condesce has and how few resources our 'captive troll princess' has, is going to be Her Imperious Fucktruck. Although I really don't know why it'd be the Condesce pulling the strings on this attempted murder, since as far as I can tell she keeps Feferi on a leash and has constant exposure to the soft side of her belly. Metaphorically anyway. She isn't a threat to H-I-C. Especially not at a wedding that is for all intents and purposes just some kind of bureaucratic ship-sailing statement."

"But!" Jade points at the John item. "I think John _also_ knows who's after Feferi, since he was asking about Kankri too. If both the world's most powerful heirs know about it, that makes it extra suspicious. Too bad we didn't get to ask him about it. Which, by the way, don't you think that the timing of John’s dad getting arrested is a little... off?"

"No shit it is. It's like some bizzaro distraction for him."

"Yeah," Jade rolls onto her back, hugging a pillow. "Does that mean John could use his authority to protect Feferi? Does that mean... my mom is after Feferi? Why would she be after Feferi? Mom sort of power hungry, so I think it'd be more beneficial to her if the _Condesce_ was killed off, not Feferi. Wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, that can't be right. It's got to be some other party."

Jade sighs. She rolls over again, half on top of you, tosses her arm around your shoulder. "So I'm not sure what to do about John's problem. Besides for a daring rescue mission where I teleport through the mountains and try really, really hard not to spear myself with a rock, I guess. Super don't want to do that unless John asks me to. But I think we have something to go on with Feferi's assassination."

"Really? Enlighten me."

"We can ask Feferi what she knows. But if she needs to keep it a secret, either to protect us or to protect herself, then she's definitely going to lie about what's going on," says Jade. Her lips curl up in a smile that remind you way too much of John. She boops you on the nose. "Soooooo, as a backup plan, you're going to go talk to Eridan, and you're going to get info from him by _any_ means necessary."

You swat her finger away, sputtering. "Excuse me!? Are you auctioning me off like I'm a piece of sex meat? Because the way you waggled your eyebrows on the word 'any' really implies that you want me to tie him up and pour hot wax down his treasure trail until he coughs up what he knows."

"Well, that was detailed," says Jade, frowning. "But uh, you don't have to do that, I guess. It's just that he won't talk to me about it since he thinks I'm like, his property or something. But you and your freaky weird troll romance-"

"Romance? Romance!? I'm offended! There is not a single lick of black romance between us!" you interrupt. You brace yourself up on your arms, glaring at her. "Nothing, nada, fucking zero percent chance of quadrant forecast in the future. It was _just_ an unfortunate biological reaction, that's all!"

She rolls off of you and lays sideways, facing you, crossing her arms. "Suuure, Karkat. But if you're making that dumb argument, that you had some urges you just _couldn't resist,_ then what makes it any different than you cheating on me with Eridan?"

That gives you a kneejerk reaction. You jolt up, plant your arms on either side of her shoulders, she rolls to look up at you. You're suddenly stressed out, there's a pressure on your chest. "It's completely fucking different!"

"How?" she asks, accusatory.

"Because I hate him, not you!"

You made a horrendous Freudian slip, the Alternian word for “hate” in the romantic sense, the one with no Common equivalent. You slap your hand over your mouth. Jade pops a grin, then double pistols at you. You slowly roll off of her, then promptly smash your face into a pillow, and start screaming into it.

You hear Jade sit up. She pats your back. "It's nothing serious, it's just a dumb hate-crush, right? I don't really know how it works."

"It’s just shitty, temporary, passionate feelings. It's the way he talks about you. It's grating," you say into the down feathers. "I don't give a shit that he insults me, everybody and their lusus does that, but _you?_ And he's going to have the power to, fuck, I don't know, mess your life up real bad if you're not looking? It gets to me."

Jade says, "Uh, well, I don't know about that-" but you're not really listening.

You sit up, make neck-wringing motions with your hands and imagine it's Eridan you're strangling. "I want to just, fucking, choke him into oblivion. I want to punch his stupid, over-smug face right between the glasses whenever he dares mention you. I want to dig my fingers straight into his gills and hear him scream. I want to take a huge fucking bite out of him like he's a overjuiced grape pie."

"Uhhhhhh," says Jade.

"I want to jam my bulge into his mouth whenever he opens it, I want to make him beg for mercy when I-

Jade slaps her hand over your mouth. "< _Okay, okay, I get it! You hate him. Jeez._ > But it's not similar to your feelings for me right?"

"Not even in the same category. Not even on the same planet."

"Still..." she frowns, crossing her arms. "I'm not sure about it. I guess I just don't understand. Can I watch you two interact? I mean, without Eridan knowing that I'm around. I want to see what you guys do when you try to get information about the assassination out of him."

You pat her on the shoulder. "Sure. I didn't know we shared a kink, we could have been doing this kind of shit the whole damn time."

"I'm not a voyeur!" says Jade, clenching her fists and looking way too earnest to possibly be telling the truth. "I-I-I just want to see what a casual kismesis consists of. I don't want it to cross any boundaries with... with me. With what I am to you. But, um, let's go talk to Feferi first, anyway. I know we'll be like way early before the rehearsal, but I feel like she'll be glad to have you around. We can play cards or something when we get bored."

Jade can't find any card decks in her closet, but she finds a fantasy-Scrabble board game. Much to her chagrin. You fucking kill at Scrabble. She takes it along with her.

She takes your arm and tugs you through the palace to Feferi’s room, which seems to be on the other side of the massive complex. You're not sure how this place is mapped out, but you bet they've got it sectioned off where the human visitors have to stay way the fuck away from everyone else, and the trolls’ rooms are organized by blood caste. Since it's the afternoon, you actually see more trolls in the hallway than you have so far-- each lowblooded servant or maid decked out in tyrian outfits appear to recognize Jade on sight, and stop to curtsy or bow to her no matter what they're doing or how many boxes they're holding. And you see fancy-pants upper crust guests too, many of which recognize Jade and give her a passing nod, which she always returns. Most of them appear to assume you're some sort of rustblooded servant, but a hulking subjugglator --one of the 'reformed' ones-- gives you a glance that's uncomfortably long. You successfully manage not to shiver when you pass that guy.

The guests are mostly dressed in slippery materials that suggest they're going to go swimming, which makes you wonder if there's some kind of internal hot spring. You suppose this desolate mountain getaway has to have _some_ perks to make dealing with all this snow worthwhile, otherwise, what's even the point? Solitude or some shit?

Feferi’s room is a goddamn princess's room, through and through. The outside of it is a full, flat wall, painted in pure, uninterrupted, neon pink. Her name, is drawn in golden, ancient Alternian calligraphy on the bedazzled door. You run your fingers along the edges, and yup, real gold. Expert monogram job too. Jade knocks the wooden sliding door.

"Hey Feferi," she says. "We're here early. I brought Scrabble. Are you in?"

There's the noise of dresses ruffling inside, and the door slides open. Feferi stands there, grinning. The sides of her mouth twitch.

"Oh, what a surprise! I didn't know you'd be here so early! I loooooove Scrabble!"

Then, the sides of her mouth droop, her eyes go wide, and she mouths, "< _I'm glad you're here._ >"

Her face snaps back to a perfect grin. "Anyway, come in! I've got nothing better to do until the rehearshell, so let's play some games!"

She leads you inside. You and Jade share A Look.

The room inside shares the color of the door, pink from floor to ceiling, no windows. Exactly none of it matches with the style of the rest of the building— you guess being one of two tyrian bloods on the planet opens up a wild variety of customization options. The room isn’t as big as Jade’s or John’s, but it’s jammed packed with expensive pillows, long draping curtains, bookshelves filled with ornately bound tomes about tactics and economics. Her recuperacoon’s in the back of the room, the sopor dyed pink to match. There are four guards, one in each corner.

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize what Feferi meant to tell you. The guards in her room aren't the same as the guards who left with her post-assassination attempt. They've got different uniforms on. You didn't pay close attention to what "her" guards had on before, but they were a shit ton more flow-y and all-around more Feferi-y than what they're wearing now. Now, they’re in tight, black, padded armor, the kind of armor meant for sneaking around in. They have hoods drawn over their eyes. There’s tyrian trim on the edges of their shoulder pads, but that’s the only indication they’re meant for Feferi. They look more like murder-death-kill vultures out to feast on poor, unsuspecting empresses.

You also see the only reason Feferi hasn’t been culled by these morons yet: Equius is sitting at the table in the middle of the floor. The front of his white dress shirt is soaked through with sweat. He unclenches his teeth when he sees the two of you. Yeah he’d better be relieved, you don’t care how tough the four so-called “guards” are, they don’t stand a chance against you and Jade.

“So! Did you guys bring the Common version? I’d like to practice!” giggles Feferi. And you’ve got to admit, she’s fucking _incredible_ at pretending that everything is fine.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I think it’s dual lingual?” Jade, on the other hand, sucks ass at pretending. She keeps staring at the female troll in the back right like she’s going to fucking pounce.

“I’d glub to do the Common version!”

The four of you sit at the table and set up the game. Feferi, apparently, devised a cunning plan with the Scrabble tiles— she starts to spell things out for the two of you as the game progresses, in a language that the “guards” weren’t trained in. This takes for-fucking-ever to accomplish, as Equius insists on playing by the rules and you sometimes see a combo that’s just _too good_ to resist, but she somehow manages to get her message across.

Apparently the guards were swapped out at the Condescension’s request, Eridan already left, and she was trapped in a room with four menacing trolls. By luck, Equius happened to check in on her just as she was left alone, and she made him stay with her. The “guards” haven’t tried anything yet, and she’s not sure if they’re actually meant to assassinate her or just make a statement. She said she’ll be safe tonight, as her matesprit with beefy psiionics is arriving later today. You try asking about the original assassination, but you had the word “quintuplets” and you can’t ignore an opportunity like that.

It takes a whole three fucking hours to explain all that through Scrabble tiles, but you had nothing better to do. The guards never try anything. You figure it was because you and Jade showed up. Or maybe they were just there to look threatening, you don’t fucking know.

Feferi dismisses Equius when it’s time to go to the wedding rehearsal. She tries to talk the guards into staying behind, but they ignore her arguments and begin to follow her without a word. You sandwich her between you and Jade when you’ve got to start walking. She clings onto your arm the entire, dismal march through the hallways. Her hand’s fucking freezing, colder than normal highblood temperatures.

The rehearsal is held in a ballroom, more Earthen-style than anything. It’s not a grand ballroom, more of a cozy soiree sort of affair. The walls are paneled in Alternian wood, the floors marble and hard. Big windows with bigger curtains show off the bright setting sun over the snowy mountain peaks. An attendant casts a fire spell on the large, candled chandelier hanging from the center of the room. 

There’s a platform at one end and to your left, made of three short tiers like steps, which you assume is where Jade and Eridan are going to have their funtime wedding practice or whatever. There’s a smaller-than-average subjugglator with high-ranking facepaint sitting on the bottom step and flipping through charts.

To your right, there’s about ten chairs set up for everyone. A few of the Condesce’s personal guards in heavy armor stand behind the chairs. You see Eridan sitting in one, his posture alarmingly straight. This is probably because the Condescension is standing right fucking next to him, ass at eye level. But her attention isn’t on the bridegroom.

Jade’s mother, dressed in black with long sleeves draping down to the floor, sits with her legs crossed on a normal chair meant for mere peasants like you. She's got this room-scanning falcon-eyed stare from blue eyes, John's eyes, that gives you the shivers. Despite holding no weapons, possessing no guards, and wearing no regalia, she's somehow the most terrifying thing in the room and gives that vibe off exclusively based on how she postures herself. You watch jealousy ooze off the Condesce.

"Yo Betty, this is supposed to be some kinda formal shebang. You gotta dress up for once in your life."

The Patrician remains inert, but flicks her eyes to the Condesce. She raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.

"Oh fuck off. Eat shellfire, Crockpot," says the Condesce. She raises a middle finger with about two hundred rings on it. Patrician Crocker doesn't seem to care. All the royal guards look away, respectfully. The four who followed you from Feferi’s room bow to her and take their leave, apparently having accomplished whatever duty they were supposed to.

In the back of the room, across from you, there's a table with light refreshments which the combined total value of is probably more money than you've ever made in your life. Two women who look like they could kick your ass appear to have staked a claim on it.

Feferi clenches your arm tighter than you thought she had the upper arm strength for. But she's still all smiles from the outside. You're pretty sure Feferi wants this whole thing kept under wraps for some reason, so you don't look in their direction when you whisper to her, "< _Is that the blonde?_ >"

"< _Yeah._ >"

"< _Who's the other one?_ >"

"< _Dunno,_ >" she quietly fake-laughs, pretending you're saying something hilarious. "< _But I have a hunch._ >"

John is in the chair farthest away from the Patrician, slouched against it so that his long legs are stretched out. He's biting his thumbnail like he's trying to tear the whole thing off. His knee is bouncing a mile a minute, and he's got a pained, agitated look on his face. He doesn't seem to notice you walked in.

When you scan the room again, you notice that the Condesce has that... that look on her face again. You freeze up as the fight or flight response drains out of you into sheer paralysis. Fefefri moves closer to you, which is little comfort in the face of a wild-haired, muscular dictator.

"Would someone," she bellows, and points at you. "PUH LEASE tell me how this little freak got ress-er-fucking-rected?"

The room goes dead silent. You can't answer, all your language ability left your brain and your thought processes are at the level of a small mouse about to get eaten by a bloodthirsty cat mutant. You're stuck, trapped, having horrendous flashbacks to when she left three holes in you yesterday. Jade takes your other arm, the one Feferi doesn’t have claim on, and yells, "It doesn't matter, gods, who cares if he's alive again! You said I could keep him around as long as I went through with this stupid wedding!"

The Condescension takes a few steps towards you, pulls her trident out from whatever magical extra-dimensional plane she stores it in. Feferi takes a brave step in front of you, her arms out. "If this floundering failure of a troll is going to remain sentient, bein' allowed the luxury of livin' is TOO GOOD for this fuckhole. I made you a deal, necro-princess, but I thought you were gonna play good and fair and keep him dead while he’s in my presence. He gotta stay dead."

"Ugghh!" says Jade, and she lets go of you. Green necromancy flickers across her palms. "I'm not gonna let you _slaughter-stab-chest-expel_ him again!"

"Too bad, girlie!" The Condesce flies to you, hair surrounding her like a great dark halo, swats Feferi out of the way with her gargantuan hands, and readies her trident to impale you. "'Cuz everybody else is gonna!"

You prepare yourself, once again, for certain death. You shut your eyes tight. But it doesn't come. You hear something clatter to the floor.

You open your eyes. The Condescension is clutching at her throat, her face getting pinker and pinker, her trident on the floor. Feferi, knocked to the ground, also has her hands on her throat, clenching her teeth, making no noise whatsoever. The two girls in the back doing the same, barely holding on to their drinks. Jade is grabbing onto your arm for life support and Eridan has his hands against his throat so tight he looks like he’s trying to strangle himself. The guards struggle to stay standing, their faces turning into their respective blood colors. It's a spell, since you're apparently the only one who can breathe, but you don't know who the fuck is casting it. The Patrician remains statuesque. John looks up.

"< _UUUUUUGGGHHHH, Moooooom,_ >" whines John, loudly. He rolls his eyes so over-dramatically you can almost hear it. "< _You're being embarrassing. Stop it._ >"

He flicks his wrists, there's a flash of blue, and then the sound of all fifteen people in the room inhaling simultaneously. You join in, because peer pressure. He apparently brought everyone's breath back.

"Oh buoy," says the Condesce, huffing and puffing. She picks up her trident, attentions pulled away from you and towards the Patrician. You might not have been affected by the spell, but you feel like you can breathe again. "You really wanna start this, huh? You really wanna get into this trash heap!?"

"I love my daughter," says the Patrician, in perfect, unaccented Alternian. She sounds so static, so in-control, like cool marble. "I don't want her wedding ruined by petty squabbles."

The Condescension decides that you’re not a battle worth fighting at the moment, because she just shrugs. “Whateva. I only came here for the military brat,” she says, strolling back to Eridan.

He stands up with a jolt when he notices she’s coming. He tries to straighten his disgustingly well-tailored outfit. “Uh, y-y-yes m’am?”

“Signin’s gotten moved to the interior chamber, not exterior. We’re uppin’ security, let your wifey know.”

“Yes m’am!” says Eridan, who actually _salutes_.

“Um, I’m right here? I can hear you?” says Jade. 

“Great!” says the Condescension, raising both middle fingers, then walking backwards towards a door on the far right side of the room. Her guards follow her out. “Sayonara fishes, I’m out!”

She takes her leave. The remaining people in the room are you, Jade, Feferi, Eridan, John, the two women, the subjugglator, and the Patrician with her icy stare. The subjugglator sets down her charts, then whoops very loudly. Feferi jumps about three feet.

“Are ya’ll ready for this motherfuckin’ HOLY ritual of cross-species combination? Are ya’ll ready for the step-by-step practice session to make this ritual MOTHERFUCKING PERFECTION under the watching eyes of our twelve gods?”

“Sure,” says Eridan, who steps up the podium to stand on the top tier.

“I guess,” says Jade, who leaves your side to go join Eridan.

“Well, fly right up to the pedestal of TRUTH, my two homebros. I’ll also need their respective LOVE CHAPERONES, where they be?”

The Patrician stands up, glides to the podium. She walks so smoothly you’re not convinced her feet even touch the ground. “I am Jade’s.”

Eridan glances around the room, then groans, burying his face in his hand. “Fuck, Cronus didn’t bother to show up. I’m gonna kill that guy.” He snaps his head up to yell at John. “Egbert, you gotta stand in.”

“< _Ugh, fine,_ >” says John, who doesn’t even bother walking, he just floats up to join the rest of his family. 

Feferi taps you on the shoulder. “< _I’m going to sea-t down. You can join me, if you want._ >”

“< _Actually,_ >” you glance at the two women. “< _I’m going to go talk to your assassin._ >”

Feferi sighs, then nods. “< _Do what you have to? Honestly, I feel beta with you standing between me and her._ >”

You’ve never been good at talking to strangers at group gatherings. You usually end up committing a horrendous social faux pas or creating a party catastrophe, and you’re not sure why you expect this scenario to be any different. However, it weirds you out way too much that these two are just standing around and hogging all the delicious cucumber sandwiches and nobody seems to be commenting on it. You’d think that at least _the Patrician_ would have called these slobs out for crashing a wedding rehearsal.

You try to look tough when you approach them, but you can’t tell how they’re sizing you up since you can’t see their eyes. You stand in front of the human, put your hands on your hips. “< _So who are you and why are you here, huh?_ >”

The blonde gnaws on her toothpick. “Hey, um, I don’t speak Common, ‘kay? Way to be racist.”

That throws you off. You feel pretty embarrassed. Committing a social faux pas one sentence in: check. “Fuck, uh, I asked why you were here.”

“I’m here for the drinks,” she says. She takes a big sip from her goblet.

The troll takes a long draw from her cigarillo. "Hey handsome," she says. Smoke billows from the gills on the sides of her neck. "You got some reel shiny eyes for a rustblood."

"All the better to glare daggers at you with," you say, trying not to clench your fists. You've got no idea who this girl is, but she's standing next to the fucking assassin, was in the presence of the fucking Condesce, so she's got to be a _somebody_. And in Alternia, there's a lot of _somebodies_ who don’t like the Vantas clan.

"Like two pretty ruby gems," she continues, her lips slowly stretching into a smile. "And hey, ya know what else ya got? A reel nice bod. Reel hot, could look at you all day. You carry yourself like one of those quick and nimble guys, you know? Rougeish or whatevs. Did I peg yer class right? You some kind of rogue, buoy?"

"I'm not a fucking character sheet. 'Level 14, maroon-blood, fighter, hot bony ass,'" you say, crossing your arms. "Where's this going?"

"Got a job offer for ya, hot bony assed dude. Wanna be a general? In the offishell Alternian military. You look like a leader type."

You narrow your eyes. That was your original career path, before you proved yourself mortally incompetent when you tried to slaughter a a bunch of clowns. "Maybe you should tell me who the hell I'm talking to, first."

She grins, all seadweller teeth. "Somebody important."

Jade calls your name and you turn. She’s waving at you from the podium. You nod a goodbye to the two women.

“Smell ya later,” says the troll. The human drunkenly salutes you, then takes another sip.

Eridan and Jade are sitting on their knees on the podium, two tea cups placed in front of them. Feferi is also on her knees between them, holding a cast iron tea kettle. The only one who looks remotely happy to be there is Feferi, who has the lid of the pot open and is huffing the smell. The subjugglator is flipping through her charts at a rapid pace.

She points a five inch black nail at you. “So since the STARS ARE FUCKING ALIGNED in the house of the lion on your auspicious wedding day, before Your Imperious Mini-Empress pours the tea the FUCKING RUSTBLOOD will draw the STRONG-ASS LION on the palms of their hands.”

The subjugglator sets a brush and an inkwell filled with water on the ground. You stare at it. "Uh, I have to what now?"

She turns the chart around to show you the Alternian word for “lion,” in sharp calligraphy. “You have to THIS now.”

You kneel down on the second step as smoothly and quickly as you’re able to, which isn’t perfect, but the subjugglator doesn’t seem to notice. You pick up the brush. “And, seriously, this is with water? What’s even the fucking point?”

“The real wedding-ink will last for days, inferior troll,” spits out the subjugglator. “What about the word ‘practice’ DON’T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?”

“None of it, I don’t speak any words at all, gods. I can barely fucking read, why am I doing this?” you say, taking Jade’s hand and half-assedly copying the calligraphy onto her palm. When Eridan gives you his, you just whack him with the brush.

“Hey, ow!” he yelps, clutching his palm like you stabbed him. He looks at the subjugglator like a sad puppy. The subjugglator does nothing about his wounded pride, she just pulls a bottle of ink and some paper from one of her many oversized cargo pockets on her black pants and gives it to you.

“That’s all you need to do, maroon one. Now go practice, because if this isn’t FUCKING PERFECT at the ceremony, I will call down curses upon your dreams so every moment you sleep shall be a UNWAKEABLE NIGHTMARE.”

“Don’t know how you can make my abysmal sleep cycle any worse, but best of luck,” you say. You stand up before taking the practice equipment, and leave to draw your heart out. The human and the troll left the room when you weren’t looking, so you decide to camp out on the floor by the irresistible trays of hors d'oeuvres. You have horrendous handwriting, so you’re going to need a lot of cucumber sandwiches and raw fish to make it through this one. Also they have Pink Ladies in fancy goblets so you’re definitely chugging at least one of those.

Feferi comes to join you shortly after, apparently having performed her sole duty of pouring tea. She stares down at you as you draw over-thick lines on a piece of paper on the floor, sipping a delicious neon drink from a cup made of pure gold. “Huh, you like cocktails?” she asks. “I’m more of a straight whiskey kind of gill.”

“If that was supposed to be a low blow at me, then yes, you can probably drink me under the table. Literally anyone can, it’s not even an achievement in the slightest sense of the word,” you say, trying very hard to keep that last line straight on the ‘n’ character. “So, wanna tell me who those ‘gills’ were?”

“Nope!” says Feferi, grinning. “Mostly because I don’t know. But I’ve got a good guess on one, just don’t wanna tell you.”

You set the brush down on the paper, letting black ink seep all over your mediocre calligraphy. You watch her eat raw tuna on a cracker. “You know, Jade and I really, really want to help you. We’re not the bad guys here. And since apparently my only wedding duty as a so-called < _bridesmaid_ > is to fucking, draw a pretty picture, then I’ve got plenty of time that you haven’t to go investigate why the fuck you’re being shot with void spells from a drunken human who can’t speak her own language.”

“Wow! Super insensitive! Maybe she wasn’t raised with Common as her first language, did you ever fink about that?” says Feferi. She throws back two shots of something at the table, doesn't even use a fucking chaser, then sits down across from you with another tuna cracker in her hand. “You’ve actually got one more duty to perform, but Jade will tell you about it.”

You’re getting angry with how she’s dismissing you. “I don’t care what it is, it literally can’t be important enough to interfere with protecting you from whoever wants to fucking murder the snot out of you! Do you even know who it is? Do you know who’s after you?”

“Thanks for looking out for me, but I don’t reely need you guys to sleuth around. I just need to not get culled until after the wedding,” she shrugs. “I’ve got a good eeling on who’s out for me, and even if it isn’t the right guess, it won’t matter soon. Oh yeah, speaking of that, did John try to convince you to get Kankri here? Did it work? This is probably our last day where we’re able to send for him. Because I reely, REEL-Y fink you’re going to want-”

The door on the far wall slams open with a fizzle of red and blue. A troll whom you recognize as that yellow-blooded border control guy stands with arms braced on either side of the frame. Everyone still in the ballroom, besides the Patrician, turns to look at him. Eridan gets this look on his face like he’s going to throw up his innards. You watch him reach into his inner jacket pocket for his wand, just as an innate reaction to seeing this guy.

“Hey, babes, did you call for me?” he says to the entire room, which might have sounded cool if he didn’t have a thick lisp. “Let’s bounce.”

Feferi jumps up, nearly knocking over your ink, throws her leftover tuna on the floor, and starts squealing. She ‘eeeeeeeeee’s all the way across the room until she jumps into his arms, and he catches her bridal style. You note that he’s using his psiionics to carry her, a nerd like him doesn’t have the upper arm strength to support two hundred pounds of dresses. They literally just fucking leave without saying goodbye. Sollux’s psiionics slam the door shut behind them.

The subjugglator continues on by making Jade recite some kind of prayer about THE GREAT GREEN MATRON MOTHER or some shit, while you keep practicing your bad calligraphy. You are left with a lot more questions than you originally had, you’re pretty sure there’s more gin in this drink than you’re comfortable with, and you’re really bad at writing, fuck.


	10. The Winning Team

At the end of the four hour snorefest, when the subjugglator is chatting up Jade and Eridan about some final ceremony tweaks, the Patrician comes to talk to you.

You’re on your second pink lady, which is a hell of a lot of alcohol for Karkat ‘-2 Constitution’ Vantas. You’ve also got ink all over your hands because fine motor skills aren’t one of the ingredients in cocktails. You’re still trying to carve out Alternian calligraphy on some sheets of paper when you notice her walking towards you.

The Patrician is human. This isn’t some trollian ‘let’s bullshit and grovel around the Condesce’ where you growl and swear and the Condesce shits all over you. This woman likes ceremony. This woman likes posture and decorum and appearance. You can respect that. It really works for her, literally the only reason you’re not more afraid of the Patrician is that she doesn’t seem to care about who you are or what you do, according to Jade at least.

So you stand up as best you can. You bow to her, deep, proper, like you were taught a long long time ago. “< _Patrician Crocker,_ >” you say, before straightening up.

She stands close to you, looking you dead in the eyes, and you thank the sweet alcohol gods you’re ballsy enough to stare right back at her. She looks much more like John than Jade, but she’s got Jade’s skin tone. She’s a hell of a lot shorter than both of them, more about Jane’s height, up to your chest. She might as well be eight feet tall with the way she carries herself.

“< _It’s been a long time since we last spoke,_ >” says the Patrician. “< _About six years?_ >”

This has got to be some kind of test, but you’re not sure how. You actually think for once before speaking— you were assigned to protect Jade as a ‘practice knight’ at age 9, let’s see, three in a half sweeps times two point two… “< _Seven…uh, years. Yeah._ >”

“< _And since then, my daughter’s fallen in love,_ >” she says. She barely blinks. 

“< _Oops,_ >” you say. “< _If you’re worried about me, I dunno, taking advantage of her or some garbage, I’d like to reassure you that despite being a bloodthirsty and terrifying troll I definitely reciprocate-_ >”

“No,” she says. “I’m worried about the ability of that love to pull strings in high places.”

John Egbert, sitting far away from you, gnaws on his thumbnail. He stares off, brow furrowed in concentration, into nowhere. A chill goes down your spine.

“< _With all due respect, your highness, I don’t think Jade is important enough to the… inner workings of government to worry about somebody, er, using me._ >”

“Speak in Alternian, dear, your Common has an unfortunate cadence that grates on the ears,” she says. 

You feel your face turn bright, bright red. That pisses you off. That’s something you care about, Jade _loves_ how you speak Common. You’re torn between exploding into a tantrum and backing down out of fear of perma-death. She could probably manage that latter one even without her ridiculous breath magic, so you manage to wrangle back the Karkat volcano. Somewhat. “Fair warning, Alternian is crass as fuck and it’s hard to imagine how in the seven hells it’s going to be somehow less grating coming out of my mutant voicebox,” you say. She doesn’t react, just stares. “Anyway, what I was saying is that Jade isn’t important in the least to Earthen government. I guess you could argue her relationship to John or even Jane might have some weird-ass invisible strings somebody could pull, but that’s got nothing to do with me now, does it?”

“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “The both of you have been doing some juvenile ‘detective work’ here at Skalligre. To me it seems as though you want to become more vital to how things are done around here.”

Your face is still red, but now it’s for a different reason. You become the deadly combination of feels known as ‘pissed-embarrassed’ and you’re not sure if it’s your cat-killing curiosity or the alcohol that asks it, but it leaves your mouth anyway. “Fine, fuck it. It’s amazingly concerning that you know that, but yeah, we’ve been asking questions and shit. Trying to help John or Feferi or who the fuck ever else manages to arouse the barest hint of sympathies in us. So can I ask _you_ a question?”

She nods.

“Who were the two women standing here earlier?”

“No one you need to concern yourself with,” she says, turning away and gliding towards the door. “Especially since my daughter isn’t important enough to the < _inner workings of government ._ >”

You let her leave, like a fucking chump. Your face isn’t de-heating. You realize you were pretty rude to a real life queen and are certain you just cemented a future assassination attempt at the hand of Jade’s mom. Fuck.

Jade finishes talking with the clown and rustles over to you in her gown. She takes your hand, then pats your face.

“< _Why are you all red? Did my mom hit on you or something? Gross!_ >”

“Nope, she just took a big steaming dump all over me,” you say, trying to shake yourself out of it. “Also she’s probably going to try to kill me at some point, hands down.”

“< _Don’t worry about it, she just likes pushing people’s buttons. I really hate talking to her. She knows how to make me mad,_ >” she says. “< _Anyway, I found out something super important— Eridan knows who that seadweller girl was._ >”

“< _Seriously? Are they in the same yacht club or something?_ >”

“< _Probably. But he’s not going to tell me who she is. He says-_ >” She does a pretty good impression of Eridan here, pompous accent and her hands flicking like she’s trying to shake all the proletariat off of her. “- it’s classified, what kind of fuckin’ gossip do you take me for?” She crosses her arms and frowns. “< _So could you try to find out?_ >”

You squeeze her arm. “< _Only because you’re so cute._ >”

She giggles. Eridan’s in the back of the room, behind the podium, near an oversized potted plant. He’s looking behind it when you walk over to him. He pulls out a large, velvet-sheathed, swashbuckler sword, the hilt of which is covered in egg sized purple gems. It’s the size of his leg, the bottom of the hilt hits his hip when he rests it against the floor. Was that just… growing there?

“What in the flying fuck could that possibly be for?”

He leans against it, trying to look suave. He stares at your crotch. “You know, security. In case some giant tentacles try to wrangle me into submission. Need a big ol’ knife to chop off that grotesque shit with.”

You make a face at him. “If you’re going to insult me, try to aim a little fucking higher than below the belt, since your desperate ass probably still wants me in ship-shape.”

“Sure, no hits below the belt. I can be sportsmanlike, follow the rules and all. I’m great at those kinda game-rules,” says Eridan, he runs a hand through his hair, which you think is supposed to be seductive. It just manages to be infuriating. “So what should we play?”

“Twenty questions. First one, who were the women standing by the buffet table?”

“Don’t you know the fuckin’ rules? It’s supposed to be a yes or no question, Kar’.”

You grab him by the shirt front, where the cloth comes together in a double breasted mess of buttons that’s just perfect for a handsy intimidation. You hold him up, so he has to stand on his toes to be face-to-face with you. Eridan drops his sword, not because you were overly violent but because he probably wanted to make a scene. Too bad the only people left over in the room are John, who’s off in la-la regret sadness land, the subjugglator, who is legally required to not give a shit, and Jade, who… well, she’s not going to come to his aid. He starts to grin, like you’re not close enough to headbutt him into the floor.

“Second question, will I, or will I not, beat you into a squashed citrus fruit if you don’t answer?”

"C'mon, Kar', you and I both know I'm not a threat to you," he says in a dreamy, loopy voice. "My wand can't do shit against you. You could beat me up like a sack of flour 'till I'm all pulpy and purple."

You lower your voice, because even though at least two people in the room don’t care, you have some innate sense on when to cut down on the PDA. "What the fuck? The way you say that it sounds like a black eye gets your rocks off."

He seems to ignore that, continues on in the same voice, mimics your quiet volume. "Let's be real here. Man to man. You could cull me in cold blood if you wanted. Right here, right now, nobody'd be able to help me you'd do it so fast," he pauses to bite his lips. Ew. "Which is hot as _fuck._ On the other hand, if I were to cull you, I’d have to be pretty sneaky. Couldn't cull ya with anything slow neither, like poison, 'cuz you'd snap my neck right off in the meantime. If I were to kill you, it'd have to be by surprise, right?"

That was a weird threat. You suppress a shiver. “No one’s culling anyone, you fucking moron. I just want you to tell me what's up with that blond human who tried to void Feferi into non-existence, and the seadweller."

"And what I'm sayin', Kar', is that you can't beat it outta me. We'd have some real fuckin' fun and I'd get healed and then we can do it on repeat ad infinitum, to my enjoyment," he says. "So if you want answers, you gotta give me what I want."

You’re going to regret asking this. He’s close enough to kiss. You sigh, loudly. “And what _do_ you want?”

You think he’s going to say something like ‘some quality time alone,’ or ‘some weird kinky shit,’ or maybe even just plant one on you, but instead he says something much more horrifying. With that awful smug needle grin on his face, he only whispers a single syllable.

“Jade.”

Your hands snap to his neck. You squeeze. Two seconds of blinded, barbaric, jealous black passion tick by. You feel Eridan try to swallow in the soft part between your thumb and pointer finger, you feel your own self thunder with adrenaline and rage, you’re blinded by spades. Thankfully, somewhere in there, you’re still a logical, rational being, much as all evidence points to the contrary, and you start to actually think about what kind of shit you’re pulling right now. Jade is a goddamn grownup who doesn’t need your jealousy, she’s not even attracted to him, you would get in all sorts of trouble if you killed the groom right now, what are you even doing-

You let go. You wish you could take a couple horrified steps backwards. Eridan takes a big breath, staggers, still grinning. You didn’t choke him long enough to affect him. He straightens himself up, tugs on his jacket, then reaches around to pat you on the shoulder. Like he’s wishing you luck in the big game.

“Goddess, Kar’, you’re so easy. Can play you like my violin. I’ve got some administrative shit to do tonight, but feel free to stop by tomorrow morning. We can talk then,” he says. You let him take his sword and leave, feeling like a chump for the second time in the past fifteen minutes. 

You stand there, staring at the neon purple potted plant like it somehow caused that horrible situation to happen, until Jade comes over. She taps you on the shoulder. “So, like, do I need to auspice yet? Because while I’m still not sure about this whole Eridan thing, I’m actually sort of hyped about being a middle leaf!” 

You drag your hand down your face instead of turning to look at her. “No, auspices only come into play when the relationship becomes dangerous.”

“I dunno, Karkat, that choke looked pretty dangerous to me…”

“It’s not- I- ughhh,” you say, grabbing at your hair. You resist the urge to bang your head against the defenseless plant. “Look, he wants me to go talk to him tomorrow morning. There is a strong possibility that we’re not going to spend all that much time talking… because our mouths will respectively be occupied and probably filled with a weird amount of blood, and I'm not going to lie and say that’s unappealing to me. In fact, it’s alarmingly appealing. And disgusting, and fucked up, but that’s troll romance for you. So if you have the smallest goddamn inkling that you are not okay with what I’m doing, now’s the time to say something.”

You turn to her. She blinks at you, wide-eyed, not really expressing any specific emotion. She shrugs. “Let’s take it as it comes. I have two conditions for tomorrow though: first, I want to watch.” That pulls you out of your angsty mood. You raise an eyebrow at her. She tenses up, starts waving her hands around. “I mean, uh, in case I need to jump in or something because you’re going to cull Eridan, duh! And, um secondly, you actually _do_ have to find out what’s up with the seadweller and the blonde girl. You can’t just spend the _entire_ time being sexy.”

“< _You drive a hard bargain, but you’ve got a deal, love._ >” You shake hands like badass business moguls.

The last task in the room involves trying to figure out what’s going through John Egbert’s head. Try to figure out if you can help with his dad or not. You both sit on either side of him, poking and prodding with questions while he continuously deflects, always answering with obtuse jokes that try to change the subject. You both fall for it concernedly often. You and Jade never do get an answer as to what he thinks is going on, or to what he’s feeling. Because while John might not look it, he’s damn good at keeping secrets. He eventually gives you an answer similar to what Feferi gave you, which surmounted to ‘stop trying to help me.’

“< _I’ve got a plan,_ >” he said, a little frustrated with the two of you. “< _It’s sort of mean, and sort of strung together, and I really hope it works, but you guys really don’t need to worry about me. I promise. I’m just busy thinking._ >”

You are, of course, going to ignore him.

You and Jade go to bed after she teleports the both of you to one of the many kitchens so you can raid the pantry for a late night snack. You put on a pair of Jade’s pajamas afterwards, make out with her for a bit in her bed. You talk about irrelevant shit before falling asleep, about your favorite types of weapons, about your varying opinions on snow, about how many eggs should be in the ideal omelet. Jade sleeps like a perfect angel. You sleep like a wheel that fell off a moving carriage.

*****

“You know, you can probably just come in with me. I honestly don’t think he’ll give a shit.”

You’re both standing outside Eridan’s room —plain brown and white paper door towards the center of the complex— and Jade is sitting on the ground near the door. She’s in a black gown, sort of matching the gray outfit Feferi brought for you. She looks up at you. 

“Yeah right, me being present will totally change things,” she whispers. “He won’t tell you anything, he’ll just try to make you mad by hitting on me or something. And then you’ll get distracted.”

“I won’t get distracted.”

“You will _totally_ get distracted, oh my god,” whispers Jade. “Anyway, I’ll be right here the whole time.”

You nod to her. You motion to her to hide against the door frame, then ready yourself. You put your hand on the little notch used to slide the door, take a deep breath, and slam it open.

Eridan is sitting at a ostentatious wooden desk in an ostentatious arm chair against the left-hand wall, near the door. The desk is gaudy, doesn’t match at all with the decor, and is smothered in naval charts and other boat-related menageries. He’s in full pure white military garb, with probably a couple yards of golden ropes looped through his lapels.

You slam the door shut behind you, let it bounce against the frame so there’s the smallest crack available for Jade to peek through. She’ll get a good view. A good view for the trash-garbage show about to go down, because there’s no fucking way this will be arousing in any sense of the term.

Eridan tears his eyes away from an important map. His brow un-furrows, then quickly furrows again when he remembers you’re a potential kismesis. He obnoxiously rolls his eyes, then does it again to make sure you saw it, because he’s a horrendous idiot with all the flirting prowess of a scoop of mustard.

“What? You bothered to show up and didn’t bring my wife along? I’m insulted,” he says. You don’t slow your pace. You stomp over to his desk. “My lips are zipped, Kar’, you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ without Jade here.”

You slide between his legs and the desk, then sit yourself down on the top of it so hard the ground shakes. Eridan frowns, straightens his glasses, and says, “What the fuck. Those maps are worth much more than you, mutant.”

You put your foot on the seat of his chair so it’s against his hip, then put your prosthetic against the other side of him. Eridan tries very hard to remain stoic and authoritarian, but fails tragically on both levels when he immediately starts pheromoning the place up. He stares at your prosthetic, can’t help himself from gliding his thumb along the curve with a genuine curiousness. You can sort of ‘feel’ it, or imagine you’re feeling it, and you can’t suppress a warm shiver. He glides his hand all the way up, across your knee joint, to your inner thigh. He leaves his hand there. Your head gets foggy, your cheeks hot, and you, also, start pheromoning the place up. 

You lean forward, so you’re resting your arms on your thighs. “Jade’s busy, I’m bored and desperate. I’ll do anything,” you say, trying to channel Dave with a dead semi-ironic monotone.

You watch Eridan take you completely seriously and fill up with a manic sort of glee. “Fuck yeah. While I gotta say I like hangin’ out between your legs,” he brushes his hand against your nook, your bulge begins to unsheathe from it. You try hard to keep your breathing even. “If I’m supposed to be givin’ you some kinda info, it’d probably be best if my mouth was free to do the talkin’, wouldn’t it? And I really don’t want you enjoying any of this. Sooooo.” He points between his legs, towards the floor.

"Really?" you groan, although not believably. You're not sure which part of you is the part that stares down at his crotch and thinks 'hell yes, time to jam my tongue against that hot shit,' but you vow to eliminate it from your brain post-haste. "Really!? After all that talk all you want is a goddamn blowjob? And with my paper shredding chompers?"

"Were you listenin' to a single fuckin' word I said yesterday?" he says. He bites down, showing his teeth, sharper than yours. "Bitch I'd suck my own dick if I had that kinda reach."

There are probably about a million other ways to solve this conundrum, and only about two of them involve putting a goddamn tentacle in your mouth. The most obvious solution is to nope right the fuck out of there and get Eridan whining at you until the answers come spewing out of his gossipy seadweller lip flaps. But, well, you sort of want to try out this black thing you've got going, and he's starting to smell like something you want to sink your teeth into, and Jade gave you permission, and she's _watching_ , so....

You grab him by the collar, raise him off the chair by an inch, put your face real close. "If I find out after this that you lied about a single fucking thing..."

He's got that smug look on. "Then what are you gonna do?"

You can't give him physical threats, but you can deal out something much worse. You drop him, cross your arms, and act nonchalant. "Then I ignore you forever."

He frowns, looks extremely disappointed. "Even if I'm beddin' your witch?"

"You're sure as hell not going to be, because the only people who fuck you are apparently dumbasses with zero common sense, but yeah. Even then."

He rolls his eyes, sighs over-dramatically, and says, "Fine, I’m not gonna lie. Now hurry up Kar', the moods gettin' ruined."

You get off the desk and drop to your knees without fanfare, start to unbutton him. He props his feet up against the desk behind you, so you're sort of trapped between his thighs. It’s too warm, your bulge is fully out. You resist all urges to stand up, rip off his jacket, and start biting his shoulders. It’s damn hard to resist.

You take his bulge out, careful not to get any pre-slurry on his perfectly white outfit. It’s… average. Purple, seadweller-cool, feels nice and soft in your hand. You want to spend some real quality time with this bulge, you want to get to know this bulge, you want to take this bulge on a romantic picnic by the sea. You barely manage to huff out, “Start talking,” before beginning.

Terezi fucked the gag reflex right out of you back in the day, so you just shove your whole mouth over it. Eridan yells "Holy shit, Kar'!" and clutches your head. His bulge throbs against the back of your throat. You patiently wait as the middle part of his bulge thrashes against your tongue, as Eridan makes a whole slew of embarrassing noises that make your chest tense up. After a suitable period of time has passed and Eridan has probably come to the realization you’re the high reigning king of oral, you dig your nails into his thighs to remind him that he needs to start talking. He yelps.

“Watch the outfit,” he stammers. “Don’t tear it.”

You dig your nails in harder, look up, watch him roll his head back into the chair. He tastes like he smells, you can’t figure out if it’s nauseating or incredible. “I- gods, okay, fuck, here we go. I only know this ‘cuz Condy told me all this. She trusts me, since I’m pro-Alternia and all. She wants me to help. Or not get in the way or somethin’. I’m only tellin’ you because there’s literally nothin’ you can do about it, you pathetic mutant.”

You're not sure how long his story is, so you go slow, dredging up the muscle memory on how to suck a bulge off from back when you were dated Terezi. You know he likes pain, so you pointedly keep your teeth off of him. Besides, pain down there makes you squeamish, you couldn’t stomach biting him right now.

"Here’s the long and short of it: there's another heir," says Eridan, quietly. "Real tyrian and everything. Got more... traditional values than Fef'. Also makes better fish puns. Condy likes the new heir more."

You draw your head back, running your tongue along the slight edge of muscle on the underside of his bulge. Which was a flourish you didn't really need to add but even _you_ can't lie to yourself-- you're enjoying this. "There can't be another tyrian, somebody would have narked. Feferi's the only one that came out of the brooding caverns for the last two centuries."

"Back on my dick, slut," he hollers, pulling hard on your horns. You open your mouth, take it all the way in again. "Also, shut up, this is sensitive info and you're loud as my fuckin' gunship cannons."

He threads his fingers through your hair, real rough, tilting your head back and forcing your chin up. You're pretty sure he wants you to gag you or something, but you're too fucking good at being a sub to possibly fall for such pedestrian tricks. You curl your lip up, to show off your teeth. He might be into pain, but you could bite his bulge off if you wanted, and ain't nobody into that shit.

"Mmm. Well anyway ‘nother heir, ‘nother tyrian after the throne," he says, letting go of you and leaning back against the arm of the chair, his chin on his hand. He stares down at you with a soft smile. "And, get this, they found her hidin' in the moon temple, you know, those hippie loonies in Derse? And even better, she's already got some powerful friends."

You reach your hand down to adjust your bulge, your pants are pushing it into an vaguely uncomfortable position. Eridan bumps the heel of his boot against your shoulder as you make a movement. "No touchin'," he says. “I guess she’s less of a friend and more of a quadrantmate, think it’s red. Anyway the human you met is her ‘girlfrond,’ leader of a bunch of Rogues, has crazy-insane void powers. And they’re both after Fef’. Fef’ didn’t know about the heir until recently, and absolutely didn’t know about the girlfrond until yesterday.”

You’re throbbing all over with lust, you lean forward to press your bulge into the floor just for some pressure. You should probably be more concerned with what he’s saying, but mostly you’re just concerned with giving a killer blowjob. You used to do a throat thing, a swallowing motion where you contract your throat muscles like-

“Oh, fuck, Kar’, that’s good, don’t stop, I’ll tell you everything, I-” Eridan grabs the back of your head again, keeps his fingers threaded through your hair. “I-I know Condy isn’t going to hinder the heir from killin’ off Fef’. And this weddin’ is the perfect place to do it, too. Fef’ has less resources, less loyalties in a traditional political environment like Skalligre. Fef’ is weak. And I-I wanna be on the w-winnin’ team and- gods, fuck, Kar’-”

You’ve got a feeling he didn’t mean to tell you his motives at the end there, but he’s coming and you have to deal with that now. You’re forced to keep your mouth over him, with how tight he’s holding you.

He is damn fucking lucky that Terezi was into this and you know how to deal with it, otherwise you'd either be biting his bulge off or currently hurling the contents of your stomach all over him. You relax your throat, open your mouth a little wider, let all the excess purple stuff harmlessly pour down your chin, drip onto the floor. You know, somewhere in your non-pheromoned brain cells, that this is depraved, but the pheromoned-up cells are _into this_. You feel so dirty. You fucking _loathe_ it. You're digging your nails into the floorboards, your spine feels like it's on fire, your bulge throws itself a tantrum. Eridan laughs, dreamily. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and that hits your cross-quadrant squick and you shiver all the way down to your toes.

"You're real cute like this, Kar'," he says, in a gentle voice you mostly feel between your legs. "All mine."

You jolt. You force yourself off of him, spit out the rest of his slurry onto the floor. You rest your arms on his thighs. "Names," you say. When you look up at him, you realize you're still woozy with lust, you want to keep going. "Now."

You want him to return the favor real fucking bad and he knows it. He grins, too lazy and relaxed to look menacing. "Meenah Peixes and Roxy Lalonde."

A part of you thinks, 'like Rose Lalonde?' while the other part thinks ' _hope Eridan's into anal_ ' and you manage to somehow ignore both of them. You got what you came for. You're sure Jade's had enough too. So as your penultimate revenge, you press your face into his thigh and wipe off _everything_ onto his perfectly pressed white pants. Eridan shrieks.

He tries to kick you, but you duck, scramble under his leg. "I spent twenty minutes, twenty goddamn minutes, plannin' this fuckin' outfit! And you ruined it! I'm gonna fuckin'-"

You have the decided advantage of having your pants on, which means you're already up and at the door by the time he manages to get his first button together. You open it, exit, and shut it with a slam, not worried that he's going to follow you into the hallway with a bucket sized stain between his thighs.

You're horrendously aroused, your mouth tastes like sex, and you're probably are giving of a scent like you want to be in the middle of twenty wriggling dicks. You need to get out of here before some poor chambermaid stumbles down the hallway and gets a face full of pheromones. You look down.

Jade is crouched against the door frame, both hands over her mouth, looking like she just got out of a sauna, and also just witnessed a murder. Silent scream and all. She just looks so... fucked over.

You watch her try and form a million thoughts into a coherent sentence. She settles on an accusatory, “Why… Why don’t you ever give _me_ blowjobs?”

You’re so out of it you can’t figure out what’s wrong with the question. You stare at the ceiling, trying to determine why you’ve never given her a blowjob, for a whole five seconds. She collects herself before you, stands up, yanks you to her face by the collar, and whisper-yells to you, “< _Raw me on the fucking floor._ >”

You have no idea what < _raw_ > means in this context. “What?”

There’s a crackle of teleportation, and you’re back in her room. “< _Did I fucking stutter?_ >”

“No m’am.”

You just, fucking, raw her on the fucking floor. Your mind is refreshingly blank as it happens, no political nonsense, no worries, no thoughts of Eridan. There’s just Jade, your face pressed firmly into her upper back, and a lot of undignified yelling about who knows what. You know you say ‘< _I love you_ >’ a lot, because you do. It’s not very long until you’re pumping her full of slurry, until she has to teleport the both of you into her bathroom so you don’t stain the floor. 

You have the first, full, non-explicit conversation when you’re lounging in her bathtub, on top of her, your head resting on her chest, her fingers stroking through your hair. The water’s warm. You can hear her heart, it’s lovely. You’re just about ready to start purring. You nuzzle her collarbone. “So… were you okay with all that?”

“I… uh… maybe?” she says. You feel a twinge of worry. You don’t want to hurt her at all. “I mean, it was super hot, but… but if you actually filled a quadrant with him… in like, something that’s more than just a stupid fling… I dunno. I dunno if I could handle that.”

Black relationships are a lot of work, you never thought you would be able to maintain one, you just don’t have the hate in you. You hate Eridan, a hell of a lot, but you don’t know how long that hate will last. You’re pretty sure it’s entirely based on feelings of jealousy for your witch and nothing else. But if you fucked up your own self-analysis, if you end up hating him for a long time, well… you’d be a bit heartbroken if you had to break up with him. But Jade’s feelings are your priority here, you’d cut it off without question if she asked you to.

“It doesn’t have to be permanent,” you say. You bury your face in her soft skin. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

She ‘hmms,” displeased. “You don’t have to bend to my every whim, you know!”

You look up at her. “Honestly, you’re far more important than he is to me. Leaps and bounds more important. I’d fucking dump his sorry ass the second you’re feeling uncomfortable, because the alternative would be dumping _your_ sorry ass, and I-” you can’t look at her. You stick your face back into her chest. “I-I can’t. Not you.”

“< _That would be so much more meaningful if you didn’t say it into my boobs,_ >” she laughs. She pulls you up by the horns, smiles down at you. “So, yeah, I guess I don’t want you to have another permanent partner. That’s too… I dunno. I don’t want to share you. But you know what I do want?”

“What?”

She slaps her hands against your cheeks, squeezes them tight together, and whispers into your face, “To be an auspice, Karkat. To be a _sexy_ auspice.”

You squint at her. “Excuse me!? Auspices aren’t supposed to be sexy! That’s an insult to the quadrant system!”

“Well I’ll be the first!”

You are hit with a wave of horrifying implications. Middle leaf. Between you and Eridan. You sit up, straddle her in the tub, brace yourself against the edges. “No way, no fucking way. If I don’t get to fuck Eridan, neither do you. I would kill him. I would literally, take my hands and just fucking strangle him, right there, as he was touching you. You’d have to necromance him back into existence while naked and everyone involved would be extremely uncomfortable and never talk to each other again.”

“Awww,” she makes a pouty face. “Why not? While we might not want to share each other, why don’t we share Eridan? At the same time? I’m not really all that fond of him, but the dynamic totally changes when it’s not just me and him, when we add you in. When it’s you and him it gets pretty steamy! So maybe we could all mess around once or twice, like a casual thing. It could be really fun. I’m sure he’d be down.”

You think of him running his hands over her breasts, kissing her neck, dragging his fingers down her thighs… Your face gets red, your hands start to shake. “Hell no, that’s the most vomit-inducing-” 

She points at the water. “Your bulge came out.”

“I- What? I- Oh. I-”

She laughs at you. Laughs. You sink down into the tub. Bury your shame in her boobs. She starts petting your hair again. “Let’s leave it alone for now, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable either. So, could you tell me what he said to you? Assuming you _did_ actually get some information out of him.”

You tell her everything. Eridan maybe, probably, being allied with a new heir trying to kill Feferi seems a hell of a lot more critical now than it did when you were face-deep in dick. Even worse, he might be allied with the Condesce, not loyal to Feferi at all. ‘Winnin’ team’ could mean a lot of things, and his ex-moirail is the least likely winner you’ve ever heard of. You and Jade take a long, hard look at each other when you’re done explaining, then simultaneously scramble out of the tub. 

You’ve got to talk to Feferi.


	11. Art Class Part 2

"So Erifin knows some things he shouldn’t. And he wants to be on the 'winnin' team,' huh?" asks Feferi, circling her finger around the rim of her teacup. "And... how'd you find this out, again?"

"Through my incredible skills of persuasion and charisma," you say, glaring at the tea. "I know it sounds suspicious but trust me on this one. I have literally nothing to gain from lying to you."

"No, I believe you."

You're back in Feferi's room, at the low table. You and Jade sit on one side, Feferi and Sollux on the other, a pink ceramic pot of tea and elegant matching cups set out between the four of you. Her room is essentially the same as it was yesterday, although a couple books on Alternian law are open on the ground, and Sollux is hovering crosslegged two inches off the floor while solving a wood-block Rubix cube. The fucker. You have met him and talked to him a grand total of once, a little over half a sweep ago, and it was to yell at him about having poor sexual hygiene with the troll fish princess herself.

"Sorry, can I ask a question?" says Jade, glancing around the corners of the room. "What happened to your guards?"

"My loyal guards got sent back to Porkmor-Kahn by the Condescension," says Feferi, folding her arms. "She always gets the final word. There's seapposed to be bad guys 'guarding' me right now, but I've got Sollux!"

Sollux snaps his head up and grins, "Yeah, it's hard to maintain job loyalty when a dual-tone genius is shooting lasers at you."

"Who's the dual-tone genius?" you ask, exaggeratingly looking around the room.

Sollux's finger crackles with red and blue psiionics, and he fires off a small beam in your direction. It hits your torso, fizzles off into nothing. You think it was supposed to shock you, but you didn't feel a thing.

"So, uh, not what I expected there," says Sollux, blinking. His red and blue eyes open wide. "Oh, shit, are _you_ the other Vantas? Alternian rumor mill said you got eaten by a bunch of vore loving clowns like, two sweeps ago."

Jade makes a face like she just ate something sour. "Uh, what kind of rumor is that?"

"A great one," says Sollux. "Anyway, what the fuck are you doing slinking around the palace like some rustblood? You should be a general or something cool."

Feferi, you, and Jade all answer at the same time.

"He's defective." "I'm too inept to do anything noteworthy." "Because he's my knight, first."

Sollux groans at all of you, then goes back to his Rubix cube, apparently above you all.

"Anyway, I know how to for-sure get Erifin on my side! I've just got to codfirm I'm the winning team with him!" she says. "I do want the Alternian throne one day, you know. I'm going to be the Empress. Nobody's going to cull me."

You and Jade both stare at her.

"Uh, Feferi?" says Jade. "Like, I really don't want to disappoint you, or discourage you, but there are two more 'teams' in play that... um, well, I guess you could argue you could win a fight with Meenah alone, but the Condesce? She's got armies, Feferi. She rules an empire that, well, might not be all that fond of her, but the high people in high places looooove kissing her ass."

"So what if she has trollpower? I've got friends! I've got legendary heroes!" She smiles big at the both of you. "I have Jade Harley, demi-god necromancer princess. I have Karkat Vantas, mageslayer knight who has a reputation of getting out of any sticky situation. I have John and Vriska, who together are a reel force to reckon with. And I've got Sollux, who-"

"-can levitate teacups," he says, levitating a teacup.

"Absolutely! And there's Jane and Jake and Equius and, and- I've got so many powerful fronds it's hard for me not to win!"

"You're really testing our loyalties there," you say, folding your arms. "I'm only willing to go so far for the asshat, albeit a lovable asshat, who calls me 'defective.'"

"And... And... even if we do fight for you, you don't have any armies, Feferi," says Jade, her ears sinking. "You’re just a powerless princess, sort of like me. I mean, we're strong, sure, but throw enough normal people at us... like if we were barricaded in a castle or something and the Condesce decided to storm it... there's no way."

"Okay, fine, I was trying to build up your codfidence, there! But you forget, I will have an army." She smiles at Jade. "Because if Eridan isn't going to play nice with me... You, Jade, are going to come into the possession of a very big navy."

Jade makes a face at the thought of having to deploy 8,000 ships as a permanent job. Your heart nearly stops. "Did you just suggest you're going to perma-kill Eridan?"

"Vengeance kill. Nice. He's killed her before," says Sollux. “Not permanently though, obvs.”

"Twice, when he was being over-dramatic," says Feferi, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, that's sort of a last resort, he's still my frond! And I fink I can codvince him I'm the winning team."

"How?" asks Jade. "I can't see it."

"I only have to say two words," says Feferi. "Karkat Vantas."

"Yeah what is it?"

Feferi facepalms. "No, those were the two words. That's all I have to tell him."

She _can’t_ know about your hatemance with him, no fucking way. And even if she did, the chance you mean enough to him to reconsider taking up arms for your side is nil. You twitch visibly, your face starts turning neon red. Thankfully, Jade is far more logical and sensible than you are and replies with a calm, “I don’t get it.”

“I guess there’s dolphinately a bit more to it than that,” Feferi giggles. “But that’s pretty much the gist of it. You’ll find out later! Anyway Jade, what are you doing whaling away the hours drinking tea with me? You have things to do.”

“Oh, shit, I do, don’t I?” Jade gasps. She fell for the subject change hook-line-and-sinker. You’re still too flustered to flip it back turnways and continue talking about why your name is apparently so fucking important it can troll-fantasy-Benedict Arnold someone. Feferi goes on to explain that there’s a huge haul of guests arriving late tonight, the ones who aren’t in it for a long term stay at Skalligre, and Jade’s got to get ‘painted up’ for the wedding.

Which is, apparently, your task as the so-called maid of honor.

You wind up in her bathroom. Jade’s sitting in her chemise on edge of the bathtub, and you’re eyeing the tools the subjugglators gave to Jade. Jade is holding a bowl full of water, a paintbrush, a small sponge, and a closed wooden compact that contains pressed purple powdered dye. Your wriggler-hood was riddled with this kind of ritual body paint, but in your case it was red and gold that went on the hands and feet.

“I have to tell you, I didn’t expect some Alternian fine arts and crafts to be a part of this cross-species ceremony,” you say, kneeling down. You move Jade’s feet so they rest on your thighs. “This isn’t some city-slicker seadweller thing, this is traditional. This is like, boondocks, swamp troll, ancient traditional. Hell, this might even be a religious thing. Consecrating you for the troll gods and all that, that's why Kankri and I had to do it.”

“Eridan’s got some ancestor or another that did this kind of stuff. The subjugglators thought it was like, super necessary or something,” Jade sighed. “Feferi said you knew how to do it.”

“She grossly misunderstands the definition of ‘know.’ I haven’t touched this stuff since I was, shit, four or five sweeps?” you say. “Kankri’s the only one that still wears it. Pass me the ink.”

You take the bowl of water and the compact from her and set the bowl to the side. Then, you slam the compact against the bathroom tile as hard as you can fucking manage. It makes a noise like a blunderbuss shot. Jade didn’t expect that, apparently she doesn’t know how body paint works, so she shrieks and kicks you in the nose. Thankfully, it was sort of a shitty kick. Didn’t hurt at all.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry Karkat! That scared me!”

“Good job busting my face open,” you say, grinning to let her know you didn’t actually break your nose. “Now I’m going to revenge-draw semi-permanent erect bulges all over you and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me.”

“Oh, I can do _plenty_ to stop you,” she says, waggling her eyebrows. You open up the compact over the bowl, let the dried and now-cracked paint fall into the water. You take the brush from her lap and start mixing. “But, wait, what was that? Semi-permanent? How long does this last?”

“I don’t remember,” you say, because you really don’t. The paint is pretty wet and smooth, it’s not hard to mix together. “I had to paint on myself ridiculously often, to keep the color fresh. Couple weeks, I think? Might be different because of your supple human skin.”

“And… uh… how good are your art skills?”

“Fucking horrendous.”

Jade facepalms. You make a face at her, then take the sponge from her lap. You pick up one of her feet and cradle her heel in the palm of your hand, then dip the sponge into the body paint. “You’re lucky my four sweep old self integrated this into his brain from sheer repetition. Also, that it’s pretty much boring lines literally anyone could shit out.”

You start on the side of her foot, along the arch, sponging on an outline that will go all the way around her sole. It shows up neon purple on her brown skin, beautiful, even though it’s Eridan’s color. “< _That feels nice,_ >” says Jade. “< _Why’d you have to do this as a kid?_ >”

“Tradition. When you hatch in a small town that centers around a church dedicated to a god with a blood condition, and you happen to be one of the two wrigglers with the same mutation, and you _also_ happen to be the first two red-blooded wrigglers born in over a thousand years… well, it means you get a fancy paint job. Like a prized possession,” you say. You swipe the sponge over and between her toes, try to be as thorough as possible. “I stopped having to do it when the populous collectively realized Kankri was the more competent of the two of us. Which, side-note, how fucking sad is that. Anyway, he got to keep that living god status and the priests and shit and moved to a mountain monastery. Although that last part was mostly so HIC could keep him sheltered.” You turn her foot, continue the outline along the other side. “But I think I’m the real winner here, because now I don’t have to paint stupid starbursts on my arms every day.”

“I remember those,” says Jade. “He had paint on his face, too.”

You finish the outline along her heel, careful not to get any of the paint on your hands, then set her foot down on the floor. You’ll come back to her sole later. You stare at her instep, thinking. “I always had to put the Vantas crest here,” you tap the top of her foot. “So, I guess it’s that wavy, horrendous, Ampora crest, huh?”

You reach for the brush. “Um, actually…” says Jade. “Could you… maybe… draw your symbol? Not the Vantas one, the one you used as a doctor. The bloody cut one.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself. “Sure, moon and stars.”

You manage to somehow not fuck it up and drip dye all over, and the paint job ends up looking pretty good. A purple “cut” centered on the top of her foot, with a thick perimeter painted all the way around her toes and heel. You repeat the same process on her other foot, and when you finish, you use the sponge to paint her sole completely purple. The dye takes an absurd amount of time to dry and she can’t put the ball of her foot down on anything for that entire timespan, so you let her rest her leg on your shoulder as you work on the other one. When you’re finished with her second sole, you hook that leg around your shoulder too. Just for yucks.

Between her legs is heaven. You press a kiss to her inner thigh. Jade giggles, reaches down to rustle your hair between your horns. “< _You’ve assumed my favorite position! But unfortunately I’m like, so sexed out right now. Let’s do this again sometime, but maybe when we aren’t on sexy-murder-sex-politics mountain._ >”

“Sure,” you say. You don’t stand up quite yet. “I’ll do your arms. Although I’ve got zero idea whatsoever on what to paint. The way I did it was, well, pretty fucking brutal. I pretty much slammed my hands in a tray of dye and called it a masterpiece. It looked like I just fisted a dead human.”

“Ew!” Jade sticks out her tongue. “I don’t want it to look like I just fisted a dead Ampora. Let’s go ask Feferi what she thinks you’re supposed to do.”

“Don’t you want to wait until you’re dry?”

“< _Nope!_ >” She grins, then claps twice. “< _Your witch demands you pick her up!_ >”

With some awkward leg finagling, you manage to stand up without her feet touching anything. You pick her up bridal style, and she wraps her arms around your shoulders, and rests her head against your collarbone, and fuck, she’s so adorable. You tell her this, and she just laughs. You also ask her if she wants to wear anything besides a chemise and she says that Feferi’s seen worse. So she teleports the both of you back to Feferi’s room.

You crackle into existence on top of the table in the center of the room. Feferi, reading a book on her pile of pillows near her recuperacoon, looks up, disinterested. Sollux spills tea all over himself. “What in the flying fuck? You can’t just do that!”

“We can and we will,” you say, and take a careful step off the table without dropping Jade. Feferi’s face lights up at the sight of the body paint you birthed into existence. 

“Oh, Karkat, good job! It looks great!”

“Actually, we came here to ask about that,” says Jade. The smell of ozone fills the room. She sniffs, frowning, but continues anyway, “On my arms, there’s-”

Jade is interrupted by a large, pure black hole opening in the wall behind Feferi, just above her pile. Sollux knocks over the table trying to stand up. Meenah Peixes and Roxy Lalonde step through like they’re emerging from the mouth of a cave. Feferi scrambles off the pile. She gets an extra second of escape time while Roxy and Meenah look at you like you’re some kind of alien. You and Jade, apparently, weren’t supposed to be here for this deadly rendezvous. They stand on the pillows, the portal closes behind them, and the smell vanishes.

Roxy’s got her blindfold off, and it’s seven different levels of horrifying. You can see why she was keeping that facial monstrosity covered up. She’s got no eyes, just two black pits in the sockets, not eye shaped but perfect circles, and they’re dripping with something black and sticky that run down her cheeks like tears. 

You’re stuck holding Jade and there was nothing in any of your training about carrying loved ones bridal style and also having to fight, so you end up standing there and doing nothing like a total dumbass. Jade levitates a lamp with her necromancy and tries to bash Meenah over the head with it, but Meenah dodges with little effort, lunging off the pile after Feferi. Feferi crouches on the ground and ducks in front of Sollux, who rips off his glasses and fires a gigantic blue and red laser at Roxy. It destroys everything in its path, the table shatters, the pile is decimated, a few books start on fire, but Roxy’s got her own freaky eye power to match it. 

A black beam of equal size rushes from Roxy to meet his attack, and the laser vanishes instantaneously. Like it was nothing. Sollux sputters and yells, “What the fuck, what kind of magic physics are you even using, how the fuck are you gaming the system like that,” forgetting about Feferi in his inane and shitty nerd tantrum. Meenah catches up and lunges out and grabs Feferi by the collar of her dress, yanks her back, and presses a knife to her throat.

“Last words?” hisses Meenah, as Sollux cusses himself out for being quite possibly the worst bodyguard ever. Roxy crosses her arms and grins from her place near the decimated pile, black drips from her eyes onto the edges of her smile. You watch Jade move her hand to call out to the knife, to yank it away from Meenah.

"Hold on!" screams Feferi. Jade freezes, doesn’t move the knife away. "Hold your fishes, I've got a deal to seal with you."

"Better make it quick and filled with money, lil' me, or your gullet is hosed," says Meenah.

"It's dolphinitely both of those," says Feferi. Feferi looks a lot calmer than you would have expected for someone with a knife to their throat. She looks confident. She turns her head, carefully, against the blade, and whispers into Meenah’s ear. She whispers for a long time, and over the course of Feferi’s secret monologue, Meenah’s expression transitions from ‘pissed-off assassin’ to ‘surprised, money-loving treasure hoarder.’ Seriously, whatever Feferi offered must be equivalent to several hundred wagons-full of solid gold, because Meenah’s got that greedy seadweller look plastered all over her grinning maw.

“Now that’s what I call a deal,” says Meenah. “You’re not so bad, lil’ me. Not so bad at all. I'm hella glad I dropped in and stopped to chat, now.”

She pulls the knife away and lets Feferi drop to the ground. Feferi rubs her throat, checking for tyrian blood spilled. Meenah laughs. “Although to keep up appearances I’m gonna havta look the fool,” she nods at Sollux. “And tell Condy that this bitch lasered Rox’ in the face, or some shit.”

Roxy shrugs. “My face is filled with holes anyway. She won’t be able to tell!” You feel Jade shudder in your arms at that.

“Anywhoo,” says Meenah, looking to you. She lowers her white glasses down the bridge of her nose, you see her bright pink irises flicker from the fire from the paperback on the floor. Someone should put that thing out. “If I take this deal then it means you won’t get to be my sick ass army general for a while. Is that cool?”

“We can arrange something,” says Feferi.

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about so no, no you can’t arrange something, you privacy invading garbage chutes,” you say, trying not to drop Jade with the urge to gesture at them. 

Meenah laughs. “I like ‘em feisty. Deal sealed, Princess!”

Inky tears flow from Roxy’s eyes in waterfalls, pooling underneath her onto the remains of the lasered pile. They grow and grow, into a black portal, and Meenah hops over the sad remnants of feathers and pillowcases to wrap an arm around Roxy’s waist. She salutes you, then the two of them slowly sink down into the hole. Their heads vanish into the darkness. Meenah says, “Smell ya later!” and the portal closes behind them. Jade finally extinguishes the fire by doing some necromancy trick.

“Alright, what the hell was that?” you ask Feferi. “And you’d better give me a clear and concise answer right the fuck this minute, since I am now certain this concerns me personally!”

Feferi bites her knuckle and puts on her guilty face. “I can’t, Karkat. I’m sorry… It’ll put a lot of people in danger if you know what I’m planning. I can promise you though, you’ll find out pretty soon. And you’re going to be okay! Reely! You’ll just have to trust me.”

You sigh, resigning yourself. “How soon are you going to tell me what’s going on around here?”

“Um… two days.”

You share a glance with Jade. You made her explain the wedding schedule to you a night or two ago, because it confused the fuck out of you. Tonight, the guests who didn’t decide to arrive early will show up. These guests will mostly be humans, including your two favorite emo poetry writing siblings Dave and Rose. Tomorrow is the actual wedding ceremony, the one that you ran through a rehearsal for. It takes a few hours in the afternoon where guests can wander in and out at their whim and watch whichever parts of the long ritual tickle their fancy the most. There’s a dinner afterwards, then an early bedtime. Bedtime is where virginities are supposed to be lost and new marriages consummated, which, ha ha, very funny. There’s a wedding suite Jade and Eridan have to stay in, and you will, also, absolutely be staying there. You don’t care if you have to scale a mountain and climb in through the fucking window, you will be cockblocking the newlyweds to hell and back.

Feferi’s apparently going to tell you about her secret deal the day after that. In the very early morning, pre-sunrise, Jade and Eridan sign the actual contract. This is where the armada ownership becomes a joint partnership thing. Jade’s made it clear you can’t sneak into this one: it’s in a high security chamber deep in the center of the mountain, and the only people present will be Jade, Eridan, the Patrician, the Condesce, and a few trusted officiators from both empires. Which, well, you don’t want to be present for that law-binding snore fest anyway.

After that they get a little time to take a nap and get into fancy outfits, then there’s another post-wedding ceremony with all the guests just after sunrise. The rest of the day is apparently a wild rager, with tons of booze. You’re going to need it.

Jade narrows her eyes, then glares at Feferi. “And you’re really going to tell us about the deal you just made? About whatever plan you’re making that involves Karkat?”

“Urrhhmm, yes,” Feferi wiggles her fingers together. “I'll tell you that morning?”

Probably after the post-wedding ceremony then, but before she gets too liquored up. Although Feferi probably won’t be letting loose, not with all this shit going down around her. 

You end up getting an answer to the question of what you should paint on Jade’s arms. Feferi had a book of traditional, ancient seadweller designs, and Jade picked one out with you in the privacy of her own bedroom. Unfortunately, being completely inept with any form of art whatsoever, you weren’t able to doodle on her arms and Jade had to do it herself. You curled around her and talked to her as she drew on herself in swirly, wavy, sea-themed lines in bed. She didn’t even stain the sheets.


	12. Bridal Makeup Tutorial (Caked-on foundation vers.)

The guests arrive late that night. Jade wears opera gloves for it, to let her artwork dry, but otherwise she’s in a similar Eridan-colored ballgown to all her other unimaginative Eridan-colored ballgowns. You just wear your same gray outfit you wore the rest of this political-intrigue stuffed day. You don’t give a shit.

The meet-and-greet is in the same ballroom you had rehearsal in, a big Earthen room with neon pink walls and a good view of the mountains outside. You’re forced to arrive early, due to your date being the bride, and you abandon her near her mother to beeline it to the hors d’oeuvres table. Most of the chairs have been removed, and the remaining ones have been pushed against the walls. A small troll wind band plays a romantic, quiet tune. The only primary characters in the room are the Patrician, Jade, Eridan, a seadweller with slicked back hair whom you don’t know, and John. John appears less sulky and more determined, which is a weird look on him. You stuff your face with delicious cucumber sandwiches. Those things are a blessing from the gods upon your pathetic, unworthy tastebuds.

The seadweller inevitably ends up hitting on you. ‘Inevitable’ because his brood name turns out to be Ampora, judging by the wavy amulet he’s wearing. “Hey,” he says, swaggering over to you in a way he thinks is nonchalant, but mostly consists of an alarming amount of secondhand-embarrassment-causing double-pistols. “You look like a cool guy. Probably been in a lot of scruffs and tussles, am I right? Me too, me too. I got a scar from a neat battle with a bunch of shitty wizards.” He points at a spot where he clearly scratched the Ampora symbol above his eyebrow in a misconstrued form of self-tattooification. “You cannot believe the pain I have to deal with every day of my life.”

“Oh my god,” you say, your mouth full of vegetables and butter.

“I know, right? Terrible. I’m just so pathetic,” he makes a fake crying motion. His lower lip trembles and everything. “It’d be great if we could-”

Jade appears to be busy talking to John, so Eridan, oddly, is the one who comes to your rescue. He marches over and whips out his wand from his belt, and when he reaches the two of you, he holds it like he’s trying to threaten the seadweller with a dagger through the jugular.

“Now, Cronus,” says Eridan. “Remind me again what I told ya? Because I think I fuckin’ forgot it.”

“Uh,” says Cronus. You watch a bead of sweat form in his temple. “Was it, ‘don’t embarrass me in front of the Patrician’?”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” says Eridan, pushing the tip of his wand just a little further. You watch Cronus’ Adam’s apple comically swallow. “Now you’re gonna go back, stand over by the door, and shut your goddamn trap and look pretty for all the nice guests. Understand?”

“Yeah, sure, dog,” says Cronus, who has his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ motion. “You’re in charge.”

You watch him leave. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen Eridan successfully threaten anyone besides your own pathetically goadable self. You supposed he must be capable of it, since the guy’s apparently some kind of godforsaken naval tactical genius and you couldn’t imagine being unable to threaten anybody on an Alterian battlefield, but, uh, wow. You swallow the remnants of your snacks as Eridan takes a deep breath, to calm himself down.

“I hate that guy,” Eridan sighs. “Platonicly,” he clarifies.

“Yeah, I’d jab a wand into my broodmate’s throat too when given the chance,” you say, eying the buffet table for cocktails. Ah, Old Fashioneds. You grab a clear glass filled with that delicious brown liquid. “Although I’d have to ram it straight through his skin to do any damage.”

Eridan stares at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. You take a sip of your Old Fashioned. Too much whiskey, not enough candied cherries.

“You know I’m gonna fuck your girl tomorrow night, right?” he says.

You’re not even surprised he said that. You down your glass, then wipe your mouth off. “No you’re not, I’m barreling my way into your wedding sex-suite even if I’m a corpse and I have to zombie-blast my way through.”

“I can do a thing called ‘lockin’ the fuckin’ door.’”

“Jade will unlock it.”

“No, she won’t,” says Eridan. He winks at you, then makes a clicking noise against the side of his mouth while gesturing towards his junk. “I’m that good.”

You think of a killer comeback. You set your empty glass down on the table, to build up dramatic tension. “You know,” you say. “You’re just like your broodmate. Apple doesn’t fall far, huh?”

And finally, for once, one of your insults actually seems to effect him. He bristles, like he got splashed with cold water. He opens his mouth as though he wants to throw something back at you, thinks better of it, and storms back to Jade, John, and the Patrician. You pick up another Old Fashioned, then make a toast to yourself. Victory, hell yeah. A few rustblood servants in tight white uniforms run into the room in order to prop open the ballroom doors. The guests begin to arrive. And they’re a horrendous, festering swarm of humanity.

You don’t know a good 90% of them, and you suppose Jade doesn’t either. It’s about a 75/25 humans-to-trolls mix, and since you figure all the long-stay troll guests are playing hookie for this boring, danceless, business-like party, you decide the eventual racial ratio of the wedding is going to be about 50-50. You watch Jade and Eridan greet and move between all the guests: Jade mostly deals with the humans and Eridan mostly deals with the trolls (and both do surprisingly well at it). You entertain yourself by fending off random humans from your precious hors d’oeuvres table by showing your teeth. Spiky means scary.

You rejoin Jade near the entrance when two of your friends show up, making a stupid, synchronized pose as they come through one of the side doors.

They spot you and Jade _after_ they strut their stuff, which makes you wonder who the hell they were glamming it up for. They glide through the crowd like cats to reach the both of you.

“< _Hey, how’s the blushing bride?_ > says Dave, who picks Jade up and sweeps her into a spinning hug as she laughs. He sets her down on her feet, then turns to you, and also attempts to pick you up. “< _And how’s the designated wedding cuck?_ >”

“< _If you call me that again I will break your globesphere lenses over my knee,_ >” you say, wriggling out of his grip before he can swing you around.

“< _I think Eridan’s technically the cuck?_ >” says Jade, actually thinking about it. “Or wait!” she gasps. “Am I the cuck!? I think I’m the cuck!”

“Wait, shit,” you say, in complete horror. “You’re right. I think you’re the cuck.”

“< _Guys,_ >” Dave whines. “< _Stop keeping secrets. I can’t speak more than Common and Bird._ >” He says the word, “Peep,” to demonstrate.

Jade and Rose exchange far more sane greetings. From across the room, out of the corner of your eye, you watch John Egbert’s pasty arms wave over the top of the mass of people. “< _Brooooooooo,_ >” yells John, over the crowd.

“< _Brooooooooo,_ >” Dave yells back, spreading his arms wide.

John skims through the guests with perfect precision, returning appropriate pleasantries where needed, like a true blue-blooded royal. When he’s free of the masses, Dave and John waddle towards each other like drunk penguins trying to keep balance, then collide, mangle their arms around each other in something that resembles a hug, and pat each other in weird places. John gives Rose a much more normal hug, afterwards.

“< _Did you get the info about my dad?_ >” John whispers to Rose, loud enough so everyone in your immediate group can hear. “< _Get all the messages to the Right People?_ >”

“< _I did, but the news is rather unfortunate,_ >” says Rose. She frowns, displeased with herself. “< _Barring a miracle, and barring your authoritarian presence and signature, your father is unrescueable without alerting the Patrician’s forces._ >”

John inhales sharply. “< _Fuck,_ >” he breathes out, his eyebrows folding down. You’ve never seen him look like that, like he’s ready to slaughter something with sheer mental ability.

“< _If it’s any consolation, the Patrician probably won’t execute him,_ >” Rose leans forward, towards John. She doesn’t look like she’s offering consolation, more like she’s examining some kind of specimen. “< _I believe this is simply a display of power. To put unruly sons back in their place, no?_ >”

John’s expression flips from ‘hellfire’ to ‘guilty-moron.’ "Well, you see… I guess… Yeah, pretty much," he says, rubbing the back of his head. "< _I've been getting sort of... uppity. Signing things behind her back, making some backroom deals, that kind of stuff. This is a pretty well-timed threat I guess, I can’t do much about it. And like you said, I don't know if Mom actually intends to kill Dad or not. But I'm not going to risk it._ >"

“< _And nor should you,_ >” says Rose. “< _Any irons in the fire to de-wrinkle your way out of this one?_ >”

“< _Yeah, I’ve got one real big one,_ >” says John. He scratches his chin. “< _I really hope it works, though. Otherwise I’m like, totally screwed._ >”

Jade waves her hand around. "< _Are you sure you don’t want me to try teleporting you out?_ >" she says to John, then turns to you. "Make sure to go on an epic quest to find our frozen corpses if we don't come back."

"Can do," you promise, even though mountain climbing is probably on your list of worst Karkat talents.

"< _It's okay Jade, that's really a last resort for me,_ >" John says. "< _And we're not quite there yet! But thanks for the offer again, you're the best half-sister a guy could ask for._ >"

John sweeps Jade off to meet quote unquote ‘some important fuddy-duddies,’ and after grabbing more appetizers, you end up chatting with the blond twins of unspeakable eldrich horror/humor, respectively. They update you on personal drama and fill you in on what various friends are up to in your old haunt, Cammor, and you have a hard time pretending you’re not interested. When it’s your turn to share the ‘hot goss,’ you’ve got just the thing.

“< _Question,_ > you say, between bites of cold shrimp you’re eating off your handheld hors d’oeuvres plate. “< _Do you know a Roxy Lalonde? Particularly one that shares that same appalling sunshine yellow skull tendrils that the Strider/Lalonde clan possesses._ >”

Dave and Rose look at each other. Rose inhales a cheese and cracker combo off her own plate. “< _Don’t know of any cousins named Roxy,_ >” says Dave. “< _Did you engage her in a rap battle? It’s the only way to know if she’s related._ >”

“< _It’s true, it’s a time honored test,_ >” raps Rose, in time with some imaginary beat. “< _The holy symbol of an angel beatboxing melodies is emblazoned nicely on our family crest._ >”

Dave tries to continue the lyric, but you cut him off by yelling. “< _I don’t need to vomit out your inferior human trash-art to know you’re all cut from the same fucking brood,_ >” you say. “< _I mean, she looks like you, like uncannily._ >”

You proceed to tell them all you know about Roxy— the void powers, her romantic entanglement with Meenah, the ‘only speaking Alternian’ thing. Dave doesn’t seem too interested, but Rose is riveted by your story. She forgets all about her hors d’oeuvres as you speak.

“< _I know what I’ll be doing when bored, then,_ >” Rose says, when you’re finished. “< _Shall we play a little mystery solving game at this wedding, dear brother?_ >”

“< _Roxy Lalonde did it in the library with a candlestick,_ >” answers Dave.

“< _Perfect deduction. We shall find her in no time,_ >” says Rose.

The rest of the evening is spent with Dave and Rose, trying to solve their stupid ‘game’ by going up to random people and asking a variety of true/false questions that don’t even pretend to make any sort of sense at all. “Is she wearing a hat?” “Are her eyes closed?” “Does she have a mustache?” You get the feeling they just like watching you throw tantrums.

They also egg you on into getting totally smashed, although that’s less of their fault and more you overestimating your own tolerance… again. On the plus side, it makes your night go faster. On the down side, you walk like a fucking prisoner with a ball and chain nailed straight into their calf when you get drunk, but the clientele of this snore-party are mostly human and care a lot less about the leggy thing than trolls do, and Rose and Dave are covering for you… you think. It gets sort of hazy for an hour there.

All three of you stay ‘til the end, because Jade is forced to and you all want to support her. Also, you needed some quality time to yourself (and Rose and Dave) to sober up. You get hyper-literate when you’re drunk, and it’s fun for nobody except you (and Rose and Dave). You’re still an insane level of tipsy in the wee hours of the morning, when the random lowblooded staff are cleaning up discarded party snacks and Jade and Eridan come up to you and your motley Strider/Lalonde crew.

Jade’s so beautiful, you love her so much. The way her cheekbones look in the light of the chandeliers, her soft hair, the way her hips sway as she walks to you, her… goddess, everything. You have a feeling you’re still relatively hammered, since you don’t mind the judgmental stares of Rose and Dave as you eye her up. She stands directly in front of you, covering a yawn with her hand. 

“< _Thanks for staying until the end with me, guys! But I think it’s time for bed,_ >” says Jade. She yawns again. “< _I’m very sleepy._ >”

“< _And I am very in love with you, moon and stars,_ >” you say. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are? Like a whole team of angels came down from the astral plane and sculpted your face to just to righteously fuck over every mortal who dares try to look as charming and as gorgeous as you are. I love the taper of your neck and I want to kiss all the way down it and all the way down your spine, because you fuck me up that much.”

“Uh, I’m right here,” says Eridan. You haven’t even looked at him.

Jade blinks at you, tilts her head. “Sorry, Karkat? I didn’t catch all your Alternian…”

“I’m sort of drunk,” you clarify.

“Ah,” she says.

Your little, sober subconscious in your head says you’re going to regret this horrendous PDA light show, but you can’t resist her lips. You lean in and kiss her, and it’s not a light peck. Jade appears to find this charming, because you can feel her smile into your onslaught of tongue. She wraps her arms around your shoulders. You get all giddy in your chest, floaty like she just kissed you for the first time. You make out. In public. It’s awesome.

“< _The cuck becomes the bull,_ >” Dave narrates.

“Uh, I’m right here!” yells Eridan.

Rose taps you on the shoulder. You pull back to look at her, miffed.

“My, my, Karkat, looks like you’re rather over your limit,” she says, swaying a bit. And while your plan was to say some snarky comment and go back to mackin’ on your love, you’re so surprised she speaks perfect Alternian even when wasted you keep listening. “Looks like you’re, what’s the troll term— oh, ‘trashed off your ass.’ I don’t think it would be good for Jade’s wedding day if you had a hangover tomorrow.” She pulls a bag of nuts from her cleavage. She dangles them in front of your face. “I have cashews.”

You narrow your eyes… you think. Motor functions are hard. You snatch them from Rose’s hand, then open the bag and pop some in your mouth. “Thanks,” you say, your maw full of nut.

Dave mumbles out some edible seed-related joke, Rose berates him for the joke being too obvious, Eridan groans despite being unable to understand Common. You’re not paying attention. Jade takes your arm and says her goodbyes and teleports the both of you to her room. You attempt to continue the festivities there. Jade spurns your advances with a slight push to the chest.

“I’m sorry, Karkat,” she says, with a little laugh at how passionately you tried to kiss her in that dark, windowed room. “< _It’s a big day tomorrow, and I have to get up early so… I just want to go to bed. And I think you should too._ >”

“< _Yes, love,_ >” you say. You don’t mind.

You eat the rest of the cashews before undressing and going to bed with Jade. Just because she’s not in the mood for some drunk fucking doesn’t mean she’s not in the mood for drunk _snuggling_ , so you cuddle up close to her in the dark. She’s warm, soft, you whisper to her how much you love her in Alternian until she falls asleep. 

But she wasn’t kidding when she said she had to wake up early. 

Five AM. Someone knocks politely on the door. You stir from your light sleep, your face in Jade’s hair, and you shake her awake. She somehow manages to sit up while you faceplant back into the pillow. She says, “< _Come in,_ >” all cute and groggy, and the door slides open. To your surprise, it’s a human servant instead of a troll this time. 

She’s whisked away before you can assess her condition, much less yours. Shamefully, you fall back asleep in her bed instead of figuring out where she’s being spirited away to. Probably some inane wedding beauty prep. Whatever.

You sleep until a more reasonable hour, and wake up hangover-free. Thanks, Rose, and also the deity of most-holy nuts and water. You manage to get dressed and brush your teeth and whatnot before _another_ human servant knocks on Jade’s dorm, and you learn from him that your gangly troll ass also has some wedding beauty prep to do.

As her, well, _unofficial_ knight, you get a new outfit in Jade’s green. One that has, no joke, armor you need help getting into. Heavy armor isn’t really your thing, and it especially isn’t your thing when it’s decorative and looks stupid. What you hate the most is the full length, artfully draped skirt without any slits up the side. There’s useless fabric falling out of every fold on this horrendous garment. You really fucking hope you don’t trip in this thing.

You’ve been to a couple troll/human wedding ceremonies before, and they’re long, elaborate things that you can sort of wander in and out of at whim. The actual ceremony starts in the early afternoon and ends in the evening, and the type of parties at night and during the following day are entirely dependent on what blood caste the troll is. Thankfully, the ritual appears to be similar to the others you’ve attended, which means you have time to talk to Jade before it begins.

It takes you a little while to track her down. You can’t find any of your friends, as they’re all assuredly busy with their own royal problems and Rose and Dave are recovering from their respective hangovers/your cashew theft, but you manage find a helpful lowblood servant in the halls who points you towards the bridal suite. 

She’s got Condesce-brand™ guards posted outside, but they let you through the sliding paper doors when you flash your knighthood moon-and-star ring at them. The room inside is a basic Alternian quadrant-binding suite— large recuperacoon in the corner, decked out four-poster bed in the opposite corner for the human, private bathroom, a fancy but ass-cramping-looking couch and matching coffee table facing the door, and a vanity mirror and desk set against the side wall. Jade’s sitting at the vanity set, a human girl stuffing what appears to be a mound of gold blankets into a bun on the top of her head. Jade turns to look at you when you enter.

You know that trope where you’re supposed to find the bride ‘jaw-dropping’ or whatever, but Jade doesn’t look like herself. She looks like a ostentatious chandelier with too much eyeliner. You’d call her ‘jaw-dropping’ with padded armor and a blunderbuss in hand.

“< _Hey,_ >” she says, with a grin and a little wave. The human finishes stuffing cloth into Jade’s hair, bows, and then passes you to leave the suite.

“< _Hi again, idiot,_ >” you reply, fondly. The human closes the door behind you. You’re alone with Jade. “< _So I guess today is finally the day you get married._ >”

“< _I guess it is,_ >” she says. She looks you up and down, then giggles. “< _You look dumb._ >”

“< _Not as dumb as you._ >”

“< _How dare you barge into my room and insult me on my wedding day!_ >” she says, standing up. “< _I should like, kick you out._ >”

You knock on your breastplate. “You don’t even have shoes on, dumbass. You’d sprain your toe. At least make realistic threats.”

She laughs again. You’re surprised that, on the morning of her wedding, she seems so… normal. You remember in the snow, a few days ago, how she opened up, said she didn’t want to get married. And she was pretty intense about it. She looks fine now, facial expression and posture says she’s all bouncy or whatever… but she’s clutching the train of her dress so tight her knuckles are popping. Hmm, she’s probably hiding it.

“< _Are you doing okay?_ >” you say, taking her other hand in yours. It’s the only physical contact you can have, pretty much, without ruining her wedding getup. You’ve still got to be careful not to squeeze her skin between the joints in your gauntlet.

“< _What? Yeah, I’m fine._ >” She grins really wide, to show how ‘fine’ she is. “< _I mean, this veil thing weighs like fifty pounds so I’m going to have the worst headache ever, but other than that, yeah, totally fine! I like what they did with my hair, and I like that I got to keep my glasses on, but they pinned my ears to the sides of my head and it’s a little uncomfortable, so-_ >”

Definitely hiding it, she’s ranting. You interrupt.

“< _You don’t have to smile for my benefit,_ >” you say. “< _I want to know how you feel, you don’t ever have to do these pretend song and dance routines with me out of some misguided attempt to suppress your problems._ >”

She stares into space for a few seconds, empty grin plastered on, until she gives in. Her face just… collapses.

“You’re getting too good at that,” she says, quietly.

“It’s a talent,” you shrug. You let silence hang in the air until she feels comfortable talking.

“< _I know I’ve rationalized it in my head, like a billion times,_ > she finally says, not looking at you. “< _But even though it makes all the sense in the world to do it, like there’s really no personal cost to me— I guess besides the silly human cultural part where I believe I should be marrying someone I love— And I mean, I get some extra responsibilities after, but— that still doesn’t- I'm afraid, Karkat. I don’t want to get married._ >” 

You look for a place to hug her, or kiss her, or hold her or something, without getting her makeup smeared all over you or without pinching her skin between your jangly metal plates. You give up and lean forward, resting your forehead on her shoulder.

“< _I’m sorry,_ >” you say into her twenty veils, because it’s sort-of your fault. She wanted you to be a knight, and you just _had_ to be disabled and retake your test, and she had to pull some strings to get that done. But you both made a promise. You both wanted to do this, to check things off the list so you could be a witch and a knight, together. “ < _I am, really._ >”

“It’s not your fault at all,” she says, stroking your hair. “It’s mine. It’s dumb to feel like this, it’s just… a political thing. My life will change a little, but even so… I shouldn’t care so much.”

“I think it makes sense why you’re upset,” you say. “But if you insist on calling these totally legit feelings irrational… Well, as the master of irrational emotions, I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to have a couple so-called ‘dumb feelings.’ Everybody’s got them. It’s a part of living.”

She giggles, genuine this time. “Like how you feel sorry despite nothing actually being your fault?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

You lift your forehead off her shoulder when the door opens and the human girl comes back in holding some brushes. She lets the both of you know that Jade needs some final makeup touches, and politely asks you to leave so the human can work her magic. Jade gives your metal-embalmed hand a squeeze.

“I guess I’ll see you at the ceremony,” she says. “Are you going to watch the whole thing?”

“Yeah, sans popping in and out to grab snacks, or whatever.”

“And you’re ready to doodle on my hand?”

“I’m an expert at this point,” you say. “You think the subjugglator would notice if I drew a wriggly, dripping, bulge on Eridan’s palm?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You totally don’t have the art skills for that.”

“Try me. Fantasy-middle-school really did a number on my graffiti.”

You say goodbye and wish her good luck, then leave the bridal suite. You mosey on over towards the room the ceremony will take place. As you think about what Jade told you, what she’s feeling right now, a curious and horrible question pops into your head: how does _Eridan_ feel about getting married? You know he was confused about the whole love/pity/politics thing, but you don’t actually know how he _feeeeeeeeeeeeeels_. And if there’s one thing you enjoy knowing, it’s everyone’s feelings about everything, at all times.

So you’ve got some time. You’re going to find Eridan.

It’s not particularly difficult, you just find and follow some lowblooded maid carrying some over-elaborate bangles, because who else could they be for? You stalk her to what appears to be a normal dressing room without guards posted outside. She slides open the door, and you follow her inside. She hands the bangles to Eridan, who’s standing up and looking into a large wall mirror at himself. He slides them onto his arm, gives them a jangle. The servant doesn’t seem to care you’re there, she just goes to the back of the room to open a linen closet for something.

Eridan eyes you up and down. You’re at least 90% sure he’s got more contour makeup on than Jade.

While Eridan also looks ridiculous, you’re pretty sure he wins the normality Olympics out of the three of you. It’s probably because he looks so ridiculous every other day that all the excess jewelry just looks like an average Tuesday for Eridan. The only difference is that this time it’s directly inserted into his face. He’s leaning on that overkill scimitar thing again, you guess it’s part of his wedding ensemble.

“What’s with the getup?” he asks you. 

“I have no fucking clue. Maybe I planned ahead for your egotistical self to use me as a mirror.”

“That’s about the only thing you’re good for,” says Eridan. He looks directly into your breastplate, licks his palm, then slicks back the purple toothpaste smear of his hair.

If you were a total asshole, you’d say, ‘missed a spot,’ and then ruffle his hair up, but… not today. That’d just be a dick move. Somebody that _wasn’t_ him put a lot of effort into that coif, and you don’t want to fuck with their work. 

He straightens up, and straightens his glasses. You don’t even have to ask about Eridan’s feelings on the wedding fiasco, because he literally just starts telling you with no prompting whatsoever. Like a moron.

“Hey, Kar’, I’ll be honest, I’m kinda unsettled. Never gotten married before,” says Eridan. He doesn’t look happy. “Guess I won’t get married again, either.”

“Cold feet?” you ask, sarcastically.

“Bitch, I’m cold blooded,” he snaps. He draws back, puts a finger covered in rings to his lips, thinking. “Anyway, I mostly just feel… bad. Like, pathetically bad. Jade’s essentially gettin’ shit outta this, it’s all for the Patrician.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Weird time to be gaining a sense of empathy, fucko.”

“Don’t get me wrong, always had one,” says Eridan. He frowns. “But I’m a good citizen of the Empire and do what the fuck I’m told. And besides, I get a hot wife outta the deal, and as I’ve learned from you, I don’t have to block off any quadrants for her so… hell yeah, everythin’s comin’ up Eridan. Although…”

You wait for him to continue. He gets quieter, almost solemn.

“It’s gonna be annoyin’ to bring her to military functions. Important trolls will be askin’ me such questions as ‘where’s your wife?’ and ‘where’s the human with the cute animal ears?’ so I gotta, sometimes. The Condescension is especially going to be all up on my ass about it.” He sighs, and with a genuine tone of voice you didn’t think he was capable of, he says, “… Sorry, Kar’.”

That was unlike him, and was definitely not sanctioned kismesis behavior. You’re so surprised he apologized you almost forget your snark. You remember it just in time to reply. “Apologize to Jade, not me, asshole.”

“Already have,” says Eridan. He drums his fingers against his scimitar. He turns his head to look at the maid, who found what she was looking for: a semi-transparent piece of gold cloth. It’s covered in ornate embroidery and lace.

“Veil me, lowblood,” says Eridan, snapping his fingers. The maid comes over and layers the gold veil over his horns. And okay, yeah, nevermind, he looks completely fucking ridiculous, he’s the worst out of the three now. She steps away and returns to clean up the linen closet.

“Anyways,” he says, through the lace. “I’m assumin’ you’re stickin’ around for the whole ceremony, like Fef’. Stay tuned for the kiss.”

“I can barely contain my excitement,” you say, and leave without further goodbyes.

You head to the room where the ceremony will take place, even though you’re early. You suppose you’ll either hang around Feferi and her psiionic playtoy or find Dave and Rose, if they decide to stick around the whole time. From what you remember, it’s going to be a long ass ceremony. At least there will be delicious cucumber sandwiches, probably.


	13. Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic was supposed to be 40,000 words.  
> THIS FIC WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 40,000 WORDS  
> OTL  
> Anyway, this is the FINAL chapter estimation, I promise, recording it here for posterity, 13/18, five more to go. And I actually wrote the entire end of the fic well before I even wrote the first chapter so it'll be speedy updates beginning with chapter 15. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **FOR NEW READERS!**  
>  -Karkat ended up killing his moirail-at-the-time Gamzee at the same time he got his leg all battered up. Super tragic, but he mostly got over it by the time the previous fic started (although he still had a hell of a time coping with an empty <> quadrant. Thanks Jade!).

The wedding venue is… pretty fucking rad, honestly.

It’s the biggest room in the place, and the furthest away from the entrance. When you get there, before noticing the seating, the decorations, the trolls inside, you notice the fucking _scale._ It’s really only the size of one of Porkmor-Kahn’s palace ballrooms, or hell, even the size of the room you took your knighthood test in, but the way that the venue is laid out makes it look about ten times the size of a basic ballroom.

First off, these wacky postmodern Alternian architects couldn’t just build a normal fucking room, oh no, they had to build one shaped like a semicircle. You enter in one of the doors on the straight edge of it, and sort of stand there like a total fucking fool staring at the large curve of the room. The curve is all windows. Pure, probably magically treated glass encircles the whole room, without any cracks or supports or indications this was built by mere mortals and going about three stories high.

Outside, it’s actually sunny. The windows look out onto the massive mountain range you’re physically trapped in, gorgeous, snow-covered blue and white triangles cascading off into the distance as far as your vision allows for. As gusts of wind kick up, sparkly tufts of powder dance along the view. The glass is so clear and pure you literally feel like you’re flying, sans the cold and the wind in your face. It looks fresh and crisp and blue and bright and almost makes you crack a smile. You nearly weep at the openness after spending these last few days trapped in long hallways and claustrophobic ceilings. 

When you recover, make a note to yourself not to touch the glass no matter how pissed off at everyone in the room you get, because you have a sneaking suspicion the thing couldn’t hold itself up with a dab of magic-immune Vantas blood.

You came in the rightmost door, one of four. The wall behind you is probably the simplest one you’ve seen in Skalligre so far, it’s just painted black and the doors have no extraneous features. They’re all propped open, lowblooded attendants setting up stands with brochures. You take one.

MENU OF HOLY MATRIMONY  
---  
PRE-WEDDING  
|  10:30 - BRIDAL ARRIVAL [MAIN ROOM]  
-CHANT TO LIGHT THE CANDLES-  
-SMELL, SILENCE, SOLEMNITY. HUFF THE FUMES OF ANGUISH-  
-AFFIRMATION OF THE MATRIARCHS-  |  10:30 - BRIDEGROOM ARRIVAL [WESTERN HALL]  
\- HEAVY METAL MINSTRELS -  
\- SACRIFICIAL BLOODLETTING -  
(Pirate themed cocktails available, yo ho ho)   
---|---  
The ceremony proper is expected to last around five in a half hours. The times listed are flexible, and only estimations. ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN, MORTALS, FEAR US, FEAR US, FEAR US.   
CEREMONY  
ENTRANCE  
11:00  | THE LAWFUL GOD  
13:20  
-CALL FORTH THE DEATH GODS, THESE TWELVE GODS OF OURS- | -LOTS OF INCENSE. LIKE, A LOT OF INCENSE-  
-RITUAL FEEDING, BUT THIS TIME WITH MORE HOT SAUCE-  
-CHANT TO THE LAW-  
THE LADY AND LORD OF DEATH  
11:10 | THE REBEL GOD  
13:40  
-TEA OF INTERSPECIES HARMONY-  
-PALM BLESSING, THAT'S YOUR HOROSCOPE FOR TODAY-  
-PRAYER FOR HUMAN PARTICIPANTS- | -FUCK THE REBEL GOD! WHOOP WHOOP-  
-PRAYERS AGAINST HER HEINOUS PREACHINGS-  
-CHANT TO HEMOSPECTRUM DOMINANCE, FUCK YOU LADY-  
THE REAPER GOD  
11:40 | THE SUBMISSIVE GOD  
13:50  
-CALL FOR THE SUSPENSION OF THEIR INEVITABLE AND GRUESOME FATE AT THE HANDS OF DEATH-  
-RITUAL FEEDING-  
-BLESSINGS AND WARDS- | -BRIEF INSTRUCTION ON PROPER MANNERS FOR THE AUDIENCE-  
-RITUAL FEEDING, GROUP EFFORT. COME UP AND SHOVE FOOD IN THEIR MOUTHS, YOU FUCKING WEIRDOS-  
THE FLOATING GOD  
12:00 | THE VILE GOD  
14:40  
-FAMILIAL VOWS-  
-BROOD AND BLOOD VOWS-  
-BLESSINGS, VARIOUS- | -DESCENT INTO CHAOS  
(Those with heart conditions, those with sensitivity to flashing lights, those with motion sickness, expectant humans, or those under 40" should not attend)-  
THE ESOTERIC GOD  
12:20 | THE DESOLATED GOD  
15:25  
-PRAYER TO OPEN OUR MANY HIDDEN EYES-  
-RITUAL FEEDING-  
-IMPARTMENT OF SECRET KNOWLEDGE-  
-CHANT OF KNOWLEDGE, KUMBAYA STYLE- | -SEADWELLER MATRON BLESSINGS-  
-REAFFIRMATION OF HIERARCHAL SUPERIORITY-  
-SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!-  
THE BELOVED GOD  
12:40 | THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOD  
15:55  
-RELATIONSHIP BLESSINGS, CONCUPISCENT- | -EXCHANGE OF CEREMONIAL ITEMS-  
-SHOUTOUT TO HER IMPERIOUS CONDESCENSION, HOLLA-  
THE MOTHER GOD  
13:00 | THE SECRET GOD  
16:10  
-BRIEF RESPECTS TO THE MOTHER GRUB-* | -EXCHANGE OF BLOOD-  
-CEREMONIAL HEALING-  
| EXIT  
16:40  
| -DISMISS THE LADY AND LORDS OF DEATH FROM OUR PRESENCE, DISMISS THE TWELVE GODS-  
|   
*[Note to "Mother" zealots: this is a shortened ceremony due to one party not being able to fuck correctly, making the whole damn thing redundant. We'd rather not waste Her time. Major apologies for the lack of bucket blessing. We know it's a crowd favorite.] | Cocktails in THE BUFFET CORRAL following. Dinner at 18:30 for those who RSVPed. And for the cheap conchfucking bulges who didn't, various snacks and light meals are available for purchase across from the gift shop.  
  
… Who even wrote that anyway? Like, three subjugglators, high off their asses? What in the fuck is DESCENT INTO CHAOS?

There’s three aisles to walk down, with impressively splurgy seating between them. No shitty party folding chairs here, only traditional troll cushions for the bourgeoisie. They’re all flat, black, knee-high, human-bed-like couches that can fit about three people with space between them. There’s no backs on the couches, but there are arms on either side of it, so you can mount the thing any way but sideways, apparently. There’s enough of these couches to fit an absurd amount of guests.

Every plush couch is angled to face the shrine-like monstrosity of drapery where Jade and Eridan will presumably be taking their matrimonial vows. It’s just about pressed against the apex of the windowed semi-circle. It’s set up with three tiers like you saw in rehearsal, where the top tier has a few cushions for the various participants to sit on, with a violet and green curtain layered over the back. In front of the bottom step is a bunch of random shit, like, various fruits, unlit incense, scented waters, flowers, random magical poultices, mysterious mystical candles, etcetera, set at an extremely low table you’d have to kneel down to reach. To the left of the shrine, is another three tiered setup, albeit without a curtain/shrine thing. It looks more like arena seating stacked with comfy cushions. There’s a few janky seadwellers sitting there, but you don’t have time to look at them because you notice Feferi waving you over.

She’s easy to spot because: A. There aren’t a lot of guests in the room yet, maybe only fifteen, minus scuttling servants, and B. She’s in such a bright tyrian dress it blinds you for about two seconds when you stare at her directly. It’s less poofy than what she’s been wearing the rest of the time, more slender and long so she can move without knocking random shit off tables probably. She’s in the second row, dead center. You head over.

You’re supposed to sit on these couches with your legs up and sprawled to the side of you, but there’s no fucking way you’re going to make a big scene and manually lift your leg up to accomplish that pose in front of all these trolls. That’s like a siren song for cull-enthusiasts. You just sit on it like a chair. Your skirt has enough fabric to cover everything, plus some.

“Heya!” says Feferi, when you sit down next to her. She scoots closer to you and flicks your breastplate, which makes a high pitched ‘ping’ noise. “How do you like the armor? Shore is shiny!”

You point at her. She’s wearing a very elaborate tiara, with many gold wires that circle her head in delicate patterns, so that kind of draws your finger in like a honing beacon. “You. You’re the one who decided I should wear this literal iron cage.”

“I thought it’d look nice!” she grins. She flicks your breastplate again, another ping. “Don’t look a gift whale in the mouth, dummy.”

“I’ll stick my goddamn head in its mouth if that gift whale won’t stop playing me like an instrument,” you say, putting your hand over your chest to stop any further ‘ping’ attempts. 

“Okay then,” giggles Feferi. “Anyway, are you staying in this room until the entrance?”

You look at the schedule again. You guess this is the [MAIN ROOM], which means the bride will be here, which means yes. “I’m pretty much going to stick around wherever Jade is.”

“Well I’m shore not staying here, the Western Hall is gonna be LIT!” she squeals. Her voice falls to a whisper. “I’m just here right now to sea all the matriarchs who decided to come.”

You glance over at the janky seadwellers on the bottom tier of the arena seating. The first one is ancient, this hulking, fat lady with jagged horns like Eridan’s but flipped vertically. She’s wearing an entire treasure chest’s worth of jewelry over an unremarkable violet dress. She sits, bored, a giant cigar jammed under her gum between two missing teeth. The second is just as old, but instead of looking like she’s going to melt into the pillows this one is primed for battle. She’s wearing a violet and white military outfit that would put Eridan to shame, three swords on her belt, her gigantic horns decked out in gold spikes. She’s sitting cross-legged and smoking a hookah. What the fuck. The third one is about your age, no jewelry, dressed in black with a sharp outfit that might cut you if you get too close. She sits prim and proper, her hair slicked back perfectly, resisting peer pressure and not smoking at all. You know, without a doubt, that she’s probably not the most popular or sociable one, but she’s certainly the deadliest.

You feel Feferi press her cool fingers against your cheekbone, feel her breath on your ear. You’d snap and yell at her if there weren’t trolls of high-social standing in the same room as you. At this point you don’t dare move.

“I would call Perfan a friend. And Aralue is easy to bargain with, I’ve done it before,” Feferi whispers in your ear. “But Shalla, no, I don’t think she likes me at all. She’ll be troublesome.”

You have no idea what’s happening and the lack of fish puns is freaking you out. You jerk your head away to glare at her. “What the fuck are you on about?”

Feferi gives you one of those same-facey blank smiles she always gives you. But since you’re sitting so close to her, you can see the way her tyrian eyes focus on you, intent, sharp, like she’s waiting for you to say something.

Whatever it is you’re supposed to say, she doesn’t let you, because she pats you on the pauldron, slings her legs over the couch, and stands up. “Whalep, have fun being bored out of your mind in here! I’m going to the Western Hall! Sea you at 11!”

She bounces off down the aisle. Sollux, who apparently was sitting towards the wall and you didn’t notice him because, mountains, begrudgingly puts his Rubik’s cube down and follows her out.

For some reason, you felt like that fucking bizarre exchange was extremely important. Like it provided a crucial piece of information as to what she’s up to, or a motive, a plan, a _something._ You feel like you’ve finally gotten all the dots on your stupid connect-the-dots drawing, but you don’t know where to start the line. You’ve got no idea what the picture is supposed to even be. 

You wish you could talk to Jade about it. But that’s got to wait until tonight, or even tomorrow. And Feferi said she’d tell you what she was up to tomorrow anyway, so the point might be moot.

You whip out a book you have shoved in one of your pockets, because your pants are filled with romantic literature at every hour of every day, and spend the rest of the waiting time reading poetry. The room fills with a slow trickle of guests, most of them opting to stand around and casually chat while drinking mimosas. Wait, where the fuck did they get mimosas? You want a mimosa. No one offers one to the scary looking, hunched over troll in reflective platemail.

Jade comes in at 10:30, on the dot. A couple attendants shuffle socializing people out of the middle aisle in preparation for it, but most everyone stays standing and blabbering and chugging that sweet alcoholic orange juice. Jade is carried in through the main door by this hulking fucktruck of a subjugglator.

You've never attended an interspecies wedding from the very beginning, you've always arrived fashionably late with whatever military group required you to go. So you're sort of surprised to find out that the entrance of the bride isn't all that hyped up. There's no fanfare, no lighting changes, no nothing. The people around you don't even look at her as the subjugglator passes them, they just keep chatting.

You wave to her as she comes by. She gives you this nervous little smile that makes your heart simultaneously flutter and tighten because you can tell she's freaked out by the hellish beast carting her to the shrine bridal style. The troll is easily twice the size of Jade, has a few hundred beads braided into her mass of hair, is wearing something so old and filled with holes she might as well have been hatched in it, and is colored in face/body paint that looks like it was smeared on by a two sweep old in finger painting class.

The subjugglator sets Jade down on the top tier of the platform, which has a clean silk cloth Jade can stand on, what with her being shoeless. Jade stands there, fidgeting with the hem of her dress, as the oak tree of a troll bends before her on the lowest tier, the one with all the random stuff on it. The subjugglator doesn’t move. Jade’s got this look on like no one prepped her on this part. Everyone around you is still talking with their outdoor voices.

The subjuggulator whips around so fast it gives you some unpleasant flashbacks to the time you had to fight a bunch of them, which you quickly stomp out of your head. She reaches down to the smorgasbord of ritual junk, where she pulls out a hand gong and a mallet. It’s more like an actual full size gong than a hand gong, but this woman has the palm span of your fucking torso so, potato potahtoh.

She drops the mallet on the ground, then just punches the fucking thing with her calloused knuckles. Everyone not paying attention, which was 90% of the audience, spills their mimosas all over themselves.

"Shut THE FUCK UP!" hollers the subjugglator. "I'm fucking PRAYING!"

The audience finally quiets down to the volume level you're used to at these shitholes: quiet enough not to interrupt or draw attention, loud enough to discuss who fucked who in the storage closet ten minutes ago. This is polite Alternian behavior. You notice some humans a few rows back from you glaring at two blue bloods whispering in each other's ears. You guess these humans missed the memo-- this isn't an event where you're supposed to pay attention, this is an event where you're supposed to plan assassinations in public.

The subjugglator bows before Jade and presses her giant hands together in prayer. Jade smiles like some family member just gave her a gift she hates but she has to pretend she likes it. You glance around the rest of the room and, nope, still nobody watching or caring, just you. You see Rose and Dave come through the leftmost door, Dave wearing a pirate hat due to some probably deeply ironic reasoning incomprehensible to mere mortals, and you wave your arm around to catch their eye. They don’t appear to notice you, there’s too many goddamn trolls standing in the way.

“Now we must CLEANSE THIS SACRED SPACE,” yells the subjugglator, standing up and facing the audience. You can’t see Jade anymore, the subjugulator’s body too massive to see around. “All bow before my SICK TUNES that I will LAY THE FUCK DOWN to light some GODDAMN FIRES IN HERE.”

You glance at the schedule for help deciphering. Judging from your handy-dandy “menu” and the archaic clown dialect that you used to be _really good_ at interpreting, she probably meant she’s going to chant and light some incense. The “sick tunes” part makes your heart beat a little faster, like you’re going into a fight. You hate those purple blooded war chants. They remind you of chucklevoodoos, that sick, head-exploding vocal magic banned after the juggalo conflicts. Conflicts which you, personally, brought to an end.

You start to feel a little queasy strolling down memory lane. You think briefly about getting up and leaving before deciding that whatever the hell this clown tries to pull isn’t worth removing yourself from Jade’s presence, especially when she needs you to support her. 

The subjugglator opens her mouth and lets forth this low bellow, which warbles like it’s half caught in her throat before being exhaled out in a long breath. And yeah, this sounds exactly like chucklevoodoos. These howling, weeping noises sung from some guttural organ only purple-bloods have, and hell, you haven't heard these in like, fuck, how long's it been? Since the last time you and Kankri fought together. Since you were nine in a half sweeps old. Since you-

-slaughtered your moirail.

The fear comes out of nowhere. You had no idea something could hit you that strong. That crippling, crushing fear of sheer loss, of having multiple pieces of you literally and metaphorically snatched away. That fear of your life getting flipped turnways in a moment. You remember it all at once, at the same time, compressed into a mere second of horror, in a note of the subjugglator’s song.

Your heart speeds up tenfold, and you find the air thick and heavy and hard to breathe with the noise saturating it, and your leg stings, even though it can't sting, because it's made of titanium, and besides you shouldn’t be able to feel anything under the waist, you couldn’t feel anything under the waist since you got hit with these things, you know that, Karkat. You grip at your fake knee which hurts like its got a juggling club jammed through it, you can feel the not-skin is cracking up like an egg. What the fuck is happening to you? Why now? You were fine with these fucking clowns the whole rest of the time, why now!?

Your heart won’t stop. You have to calm down, this isn't happening to you. This happened to past-you, not you-you, these clowns aren't the same, _you’re_ not the same, stop it, your hands are shaking, you can’t get enough air through your useless fucking lungs. The chucklevoodoo-like song doesn’t stop, she wails and wails as part of some completely inane ritual, and you know you should try to cover your ears but you can’t move your arms because your skin is all broken, you’re nine in a half and lying in a sopor tub and bleeding and paralyzed and pretending to be in a coma because the Condesce is going to fucking cull you for-

Something in the back of your head tells you to stand up and leave, some thankfully logical version of Karkat still kicking, and you don’t think of Jade or weddings or whoever’s watching, you just think of bolting it the fuck out of here. You can’t really bolt though, not with how tight and broken you feel, so you stand, turn, and walk away. Holy fuck, you can remember how to walk even when trapped in hell memory land, good for you.

It’s not like your vision is blacked out or anything, you can see but you can’t _focus_ , you can’t register anything besides “get out get out get out.” You shoulder check someone standing in the aisle, and they might yell at you, you don’t hear it, you only hear that horrible wailing, that throaty singing that even though it’s got no magic in it, it still hurts you like you’re being torn from the inside out.

You walk out the door, down some hall or another, down another hall, another, until either the chanting stops or you’re far enough away you can’t hear it anymore. You stop, lean forward, and place your forehead against the nearest wall. It blocks out the light, lets you listen to your breathing like you were taught to do as a knight-in-training, and allows your heart to stop pumping like its trying to rush straight into death. You press the armorless inside of your forearm to your eyes, they’re all wet, you wipe away the remaining tears. 

In retrospect, you really should have expected this. You should have prepared or something, accumulated to the subjugglator shit you haven’t thought about in, fucking, three sweeps, so you wouldn’t have to ditch a day where it’s very important you be present and support your witch. You moron. You weak piece of shit.

You can’t go back in there.

“Are you alright, Karkat?” asks someone. You turn. Dave and Rose are standing _right behind you_.

You scream, clamor at the wall behind you. “Holy- Fuck- Shit- Where the fuck did you come from!”

“Dave finds it hard to ignore those who bump shoulders with him, he follows anyone who engages in even the briefest physical contact with him. Like an enthused puppy,” she turns to him. “< _Isn’t that right, Dave?_ >”

“< _Y’know, I can always tell when you’re talking shit about me, even when it’s in moonspeak. Like my hair stands on end and stuff,_ >” says Dave, sipping from a barrel shaped glass with a little fake sword stuck in it. He’s holding a mimosa in his other hand, double dipping, apparently.

You find it a little easier to think with them here, probably because Dave’s pirate hat is so fucking stupid it’s hard to be angry about anything _but_ that hat. What did you ever tell them about your past, anyway? The only person you’ve ever laid out the whole thing for was Jade, but you’re pretty sure you’ve shared bits and pieces with the StriLondes. You know they know that you were in the juggalo conflicts, that you were crippled there, that you had to run to human territory, that you went to med school under some incorrect assumption you’d be able to fix yourself. 

Rose notices you not responding, because of course she does, the nosy broad. She puts on this blase smile. “So what was that all about, Karkat? Clearly a panic attack, or perhaps some sort of relapse, but what was the trigger? I’d like to make some educated guesses, if you’d let me.”

You point at her and glower. Your hand is still shaking a little. “Like hell. If you seriously fucking do this to me right now I am going to somehow find your eyeballs under all that hair you have and just fucking pluck them out. I don’t want to deal with some bullshit psychoanalysis right now. I don’t want to deal with anything besides for how the fuck I’m going to tell Jade that I’m some kind of scared wriggler, cowering in a hallway, and might just fucking have to ditch out on an incredibly important day.”

“Ah,” says Rose, quietly. “I think I understand. Although a full retreat might be unnecessary, considering we have an important tool to aid us.”

You blink. “Us?”

She plucks a wedding schedule from Dave’s back pocket and unfolds it, then studies it like it’s page three of the Porkmor-Kahn Times. She wiggles her fingers, and a magic pen made of pure white light materializes between them. She circles a few things. Dave sips at his pirate drink.

When she finishes circling, she holds the schedule up to you. She circled all the items with the word “chant” in it with shiny silver ink, and also circled the entire section that involves The Vile God. “Please inform me if I assumed wrong, but I believe these are the spots where you need to step outside for a breath of fresh air, correct? And considering how stuffy the guests are in that wedding venue, I suspect Dave and I will also accompany you during these time periods.” She nods at Dave. “< _And Dave is quite good at scheduling, he’s never been late or missed an appointment._ >”

“< _Damn straight,_ >” says Dave. “< _Put me in a counting office and promote me to mid level manager already, because we’ve got this time schedule on lockdown._ >”

You hand the piece of paper back to her. You weren’t thinking clearly, of course you could just skip out on the parts with chucklevoodoo-esque chanting and _probably_ be fine. You’ll just have to pay attention to the times. But you’re awfully confused as to why the hell they’re going out of your way to help you. “Okay,” you say. “… What are you getting out of this? Laughs? Drama? Filling your psychoanalysis kink?”

Rose tilts her head, then frowns. “You’re our friend, Karkat.”

Oh. You forgot. Not everyone has a motive.

Fuck Skalligre, seriously. You want to go home. You sigh and cover your face, and groan out a quiet, “< _Thank you._ >”

You look up when Dave knocks on your pauldron with the hand holding a now-empty pirate themed cocktail. He hands you the mimosa. “< _Grabbed this for you, bro. You want it?_ >”

Yes. Yes, you do.


	14. AND SO WE JOIN THESE HANDS TOGETHER IN HOLY MATRIMONY...

When you get back to the main room, Jade is bowing before the three seadweller matriarchs, full prostrate, ass up, forehead at their feet. She says something to them you can’t hear from all the way in the back of the room, they say something back, and then each in turn gives her some pearl bracelets to wear. You’re sure it has some deep meaning or whatever, but you’re not super inclined to go up to the front again where the subjugglator looms. Not yet anyway.

All the back row seats are filled up by now, so Dave and Rose tell you they’ll save you a spot towards the middle. You decide to stay lurking in the back for now, since you need to wait for Feferi to guide you on when to go up for your hand-doodle part.

Against the leftmost curve of the window, you see the odd couple of human royalty. Despite the back being a little too crowded with groups of socializing trolls, there’s a clear ten foot radius around the two of them. And everyone at the edge of that ten foot radius is staring at them, and for good reason. Vriska Serket is dressed like a gold digger. John Egbert is dressed like a tall glass of water.

Either his mom wanted him to match her or Vriska wanted him to match her, and you don’t know which is worse. But Lords, you are _thirsty_ , and augh, fuck you for thinking that, no one can ever know you thought that. You just wish Vriska would move like, three feet to the right, and, shit, she saw you staring. She’s coming over.

She ditches John near a fanboy-looking seadweller to saunter over to you, carrying a bulky white bag that doesn’t match her skintight outfit. She starts talking before she even gets to you.

“Hi Karkat! Guess what I’ve been up to?” she says. You take this opportunity to start downing your mimosa. “That’s right, driving Captain Vriska’s incorporeal pirate ship around the mountains! It was awesome! It was easy to pick up, since it’s _me_ after all. I was basically born and bred to be the owner of a sweet necromancy ship from beyond the grave.” She stops in front of you, looks you up and down, and frowns, like she’s disappointed. “Uhhhhhhhh, who put you in the armor? You should take it off, it looks dumb.”

“Yeah now I’m extra not taking this off, just because you said that,” you say, finishing your drink. “What’s in the bag?”

“Oh, it’s just Mindfang,” she says. She opens the bag to show you.

It’s certainly Mindfang. Just her hairless skull with broken horns, covered in swirls of your congealed blood, with one eye lit up blue and sentient. The light flickers off and on, like she winked at you.

“Thanks a lot for giving her your blood,” says Vriska, clearly not thankful at all. “It’s like, friggin’ burned into her bone. We couldn’t figure out how to destroy her without magic, she’d literally just move her soul around to other random corpses, so now I have to carry her around like a bowling ball. I hope you’re happy.”

“Absolutely,” you say, glaring at Vriska. You look down at Mindfang. She looks back. You feel stupid for even saying it, but you ask, “Uh, you doing alright in there?”

“I rest and wait for the opportune moment to strike back, blood child,” says Mindfang, her voice much weaker than it was when she was a full sized skeleton pirate. “Although thank you for your courteous attitude. I shall remember this.”

“Yeah yeah, back in the bag, skele-fangs,” says Vriska, shutting the lid over Mindfang and clasping it. 

You glance back down the aisles towards Jade. You feel a little guilty not paying attention to her. She’s standing up, and a lot more guests are streaming in with stupid pirate themed drinks, so you guess it’s time to start the wedding proper. 11am, dawn of the ceremony.

You’re doubly distracted by John coming over. Goddess, you are _parched_. You also notice your head isn’t the only one that turns, literally everyone in his space bubble swivels to look at him, either in awe of being in the presence of the son of the patrician or in fear of being in the presence of the son of the patrician. He walks with the confidence of a goddamn king, all perfect posture and swagger. He is the densest motherfucker alive and does not notice the extra attention whatsoever.

“< _Hi, buddy! You doing okay? I know my sister’s been having a rough day, so if there’s anything I can do for either of you…_ >” He throws his arms out at you, frowns, then puts them down. “Aw, I was going to hug you, but you’re dressed like a can opener.”

Dammit. Fuck your outfit. Abscond, abscond. “Yeah, uh, doing okay. Do you know where Feferi is, I-”

John interrupts you by gasping, horrified at something he thought of. He clasps both his hands over his mouth. “Wait! Karkat! I totally forgot- I haven’t told you- oh gods, this is extremely important- < _We have to-_ >”

“Shhh!” says Vriska, as loud as she can possibly manage. “They’re starting! John, you have to go up there!”

A bunch _more_ people turn to stare at the three of you, from how fucking loud she was. John gapes at her, open mouthed. You watch defeat wash over his face. He shuts his mouth, puts his hands against his forehead, and says with the kind of dismal, hopeless tone used only by people who are under a great amount of stress, “Vriska, you’re an asshole.”

He storms away, the tails of his jacket fluttering behind him, those in his way parting before him. What was that about? You? Their relationship? Well, stack another piece of evidence on the pile of “John doesn’t actually trust Vriska, at all, apparently.” What the actual fuck is their dynamic supposed to be? Friends? Do they sleep together? Fuck it, you’ll just ask Vriska. She smiles to herself, one of those little private victory smiles. Without John around, the people near you don't seem to care about you and Vriska.

“Alright, I’m going to ask a hell of a personal question here, so just humor me,” you say, getting close to her and trying to keep quiet. Alternian party gossip mode: activated. “You pity John, don’t you?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“But John’s human, and I’ve got experience with that humans-are-bad-at-quadrants shit, maybe even the same fucking experience you had, since our love interests are half-siblings. So, Vriska, here’s something I want to know. Here’s something I really, really, want to stick my nose in and understand: How does John feel about _you?_ ”

She laughs. “What a dumb question, you’re such a romance nerd! He thinks I’m the best, obviously,” she answers, grinning. “He neeeeeeeeds me. We’re getting married, after all.”

She flashes her engagement ring at you. They’ve been “getting married” since John was fucking eight sweeps old. He’s been staving off the wedding at least as long as Jade was with Eridan, hell, he’s technically been staving it off for longer now. That’s not something you do when you think your partner is ‘the best,’ unless he has a crippling fear of commitment.

“So why aren’t you married?” you ask, tired of her bullshit. “It’s been like five sweeps.”

“Aranea kept getting in the way,” she answers, a little too fast. “But now she’s out of the picture, soooooooo…” The way her hands tighten on her bag says more about John’s feelings than her actual answer. She’s grabbing the strap so hard her knuckles are white. You’re going to safely assume he doesn’t reciprocate the pity she feels for him, and it bothers her. Now it makes sense why she always hits on you, this fucker’s desperate. As far as you know, she doesn’t have a single quadrant filled. It still doesn’t really answer your question about how John feels about her though. Just that he doesn’t pity her.

Vriska wasn’t lying, they were starting the entrance. It’s the part where everyone from the West Hall comes into the Main Room in one grand, day-drunk promenade. You break away from her to go find Feferi. 

Every guest with obnoxious pirate cocktails in hand comes through the main doors of the aisle, following Feferi and Eridan. No fucking joke, Feferi is carrying Eridan in her arms the same way the subjugglator carried Jade in. Both of them are beaming, Eridan is basically glowing as bright as his outfit with all the attention he’s getting and making a stupid, showy fainting pose in her arms. That’s not fair he gets an escort, you wish you could have escorted Jade up there instead of that horrorshow treetrunk. Also, wait, what, Feferi has that kind of arm strength? She’s like half the size of him. You guess she skipped leg day.

On either side of them are two subjugglators, one of whom was the short one who guided the rehearsal, the other is a woman of medium size… Well, medium for subjugglators, anyway. They’re a bit better dressed than the hulking one, but still have shitty white face paint and shitty purple clown patterns all over.

You join in the crowd towards the front, next to some raucous blue blooded dude wearing the same stupid pirate hat Dave had, you guess they were handing them out as bad party favors. Why didn’t Jade’s morning soiree have party favors? That’s not very fair.

The guests in the conga line from hell slowly break off and find seats or places to stand and socialize, so by the time you get to the front it’s just you and Cronus and the subjugglators hanging around together behind Feferi and Eridan. The two subjugglators kneel at opposite sides of the long low table filled with ritual items, and the hulking one kneels down in the middle behind the table to join them. Feferi drops off Eridan on the lowest stair of the shrine-platform-thing, then turns to the two of you and beckons you to follow her. You wave a hopefully subtle hello to Jade, who is sitting on her knees on the top tier of the shrine, on a cushion. She gives you a small smile back that you can’t read, goddesses, you hope she’s okay up there.

You are, apparently, supposed to sit at the arena seating on the side. The seadweller matriarchs are gone, their part over and done with. John and the Patrician are already sitting on the highest level, right next to each other in poses attempting to out-compete the other in charismatic power levels. Patrician Crocker is stick straight, on her knees, no hair out of place, no line crooked. John’s cross-legged, his arm slung around the short back wall of the seating, his elbow crooked near his mother’s waist without touching her. This beautiful, pastel fuckhole just drips with casual confidence. He’s got this bemused smile on, like he’s trapped in the middle of a daydream.

You never noticed this before, probably because you’re rarely able to grace the Patrician’s presence and therefore can’t draw Venn diagrams in your head, but her and John have the same pair of square glasses on. And the same eyes, too. They glow with that weird royal blue no one else in their family has.

You and Feferi sit on the bottom tier of the arena seating, on some surprisingly comfy cushions. Cronus sits at the top, alone, where he belongs. The smallest subjugglator stands up and starts addressing the audience ‘thank you for coming, we shall now summon the gods, respect THE CHUCKLEFUCKS YOU ROTTEN SINNERS’ and other dull garbage. You lean over to Feferi and whisper, “I’m supposed to be here, right?”

“Duh! Weren’t you paying attention at rehearshell?” she whispers back.

“Hell no,” you say. “I was eating.”

“All you’ve been doing is eating! You’re going to gain like ten glubbin’ pounds this week if you’re not careful!”

Frankly, you’ve been having so much vigorous sexual activity you’re probably burning enough calories to break even. You don’t tell Feferi that.

The subjugglators chant (normally, with full Alternian words, thank fuck) to metaphorically “summon” every god and their lusus under the sun. It takes a whole ten minutes until your brain is melting out of your eyes from sheer boredom. You scan the crowd. You find Rose and Dave, find Jane and Equius, Sollux, Vriska, Jade’s weird cousin you forgot the name of, Aradia, and Jade’s terrifying werewolf-demigod-father who seems to be… looking? at you. You really wish her father had eyes. You don’t see the Condesce. That’d be just like her, to skip out on a wedding that people expect her to be at. It boosts her infamy, like sighting a rare animal. You can’t say you’re not relieved.

You’re awakened from your bored, zoned out stupor when Feferi leaves your side to glide up to the platform. She takes a cast iron teapot and two cups from the smallest subjugglator and steps up to where Eridan and Jade sit facing each other. Right, TEA OF INTERSPECIES HARMONY, you guess you’re up after this. The hulking subjugglator places a low table between Jade and Eridan. Feferi kneels behind it and pours them two cups of tea after a speech cue, which Jade and Eridan drink to the melodic sounds of obnoxious subjugglator whooping. You should probably pay attention.

“-and their wedding sign under the LION, BELOVED GOD OF CONCUPISCENT FUCKERY, shall be painted on their hands so blessings shall reign upon them for-”

That’s you. You stand up, walk over there, and take an already filled inkwell and a brush from the smallest subjugglator. She gives you the same judgment death glare she gave you at rehearsal, one of those ‘don’t fuck it up or I’ll sic nightmares on you’ looks. You eye up the three tiers to see if you can make it up in one awkward lunge in lieu of exposing your limpy stair climbing ways, decide you can, and kinda push yourself up to the top tier with your one leg capable of a high kick. And you don’t even let the ink slosh over the side onto your reflective platemail, good on you. 

Jade doesn’t look miserable, just bored as hell. In fact, both Jade and Eridan look about as bored as you feel. Feferi is trying to subtly huff the tea smell from the cast iron pot. Jade brightens as soon as you kneel next to her. She lays her hand down on the table for you, eagerly. You dip the brush in the ink, and start to draw the word for ‘lion’ on her palm.

“< _I’d be fucking hilarious if I kissed you right now,_ >” you mutter, loud enough so Jade can hear you over the middlest subjugglator in mid-speech. “< _The subjugglators would shit themselves._ >”

“< _Do it,_ > Jade dares, a smile in her voice.

You really can’t bring yourself to, not with all these people watching. You’re a pansy of a troll bound by societal expectations, slave to what others think of you, no matter how you try to deny it. You bite your lip, finishing off the calligraphy.

Feferi giggles. “< _Jade, you’re crazy._ >”

Fuck it, you won’t leave her empty handed. You pick her hand up by the wrist and kiss her knuckles, a gentle compromise. You hear a subjugglator behind you hiss and you set her hand back down on the table, sheepish. Jade laughs, quiet, covering her smile with the tips of her painted fingers, which makes it all worthwhile.

Eridan leans on the table, his chin on his hand, all smug. “So do I get a kiss too?” he says, eyebrows waggling.

You yank the arm he’s using as a chin rest out from under him as he sputters at you, and sloppily draw the matching calligraphy on said palm.

When you’re done, you and Feferi walk down the steps together. She lets you lean on her arm so you can take the three steps like a normal troll, and holy shit, she has gigantic biceps. Your one sole duty complete, you don’t have to go back to the arena seating. Feferi guides you down the middle aisle, around dumbasses standing and chatting in the way, as the subjugglators begin their prayer for human participants.

“Dear humans. We hope your WEAK FLESHY BODIES don’t explode with FUCKING HOLINESS as we give this couple over to the GLORIOUS TROLL VOID. Let us-”

You wonder what the fuck the humans in the audience who don’t speak Alternian think is happening. You’ll have to ask Dave.

You sit with him and Rose after you grab another mimosa, and settle in to watch the rest of the wedding. “Watch” is in heavy quotes though, as you spend most of the time chatting about your respective lives while piled on the flat couch. This is only interrupted by them occasionally shuffling you out of the room at certain points to avoid your Karkat-brand freakouts, with Rose ‘quack-quack-seat-backing’ your favored couch with like 10 empty mimosa glasses stacked in a pyramid. The three of you make an excellent discovery during one of these escapades: there’s a buffet table down the hall and around the corner. Hell yeah, delicious party snacks. Rose and Dave seem just as enthused as you about fucking adorable tiny sandwiches.

As for the actual ceremony, John and Cronus do something ritually similar to what you and Feferi did at some point, but apparently they’re too closely ‘related’ to be able to wander free in the audience like your sweet self and are stuck in arena seating. The rest of it is just random nonsense. The subjugglators make Eridan and Jade pray, tie their hands together, splash water on them, wave incense in front of their faces, and other such shit like that. Probably the most exciting part is the ‘ritual feeding’ when apparently Eridan and Jade can’t use their own hands to eat and the subjugglators shove small fried balls of dough in their mouths while whacking them with herbs. You watch them both slowly die of brain rot over the course of an hour in a half. 

When it’s THE BELOVED GOD’s part of the ceremony, Dave and Rose are off fetching alcoholic beverages. The smallest subjugglator recites some classic Alternian poem about romance that you learned as a wriggler. On cue, you watch Eridan and Jade sit up straight on their knees, lean forward and against each other’s hands, and kiss.

That fucks with your head a bit. At least it’s over in two seconds.

Actually, no, it’s not. What you didn’t know when Eridan said ‘Stay tuned for the kiss,’ was that there would be _multiple_ instances where they’d be tenderly touching lips. KissES, Eridan. It’s a plural fucking noun, it’s not that hard.

The subjugglator says some prose-y garbage about ‘grand towers uniting with sky’ which you think is absolutely a sex thing, then splashes them with some water from a bowl with floating pink flower petals, Eridan and Jade face each other with dead eyed expressions, the subjugglator chants some more, then Eridan and Jade kiss again. This goes on for a while. With each kiss, they progressively get more comfortable with each other. The next kiss, they’re leaning closer together, the one after that, there’s a bit of _lip movement_ , so on and so forth until they’re doing that ‘kiss-slight pause, slight head tilt-kiss’ thing that looks all soft and nice and sweet and what the fuck ever. You know exactly what it feels like, because you’ve kissed both of them like that. It’s not like, making out or anything, but it bothers the hell out of you.

You get jealous. Absolutely. But you also come to a very weird and unwanted realization about yourself. While you may have had some totally innocuous little fantasies here and there about having an epic sex battle for Jade with Eridan and proving your almighty alpha-troll dominance, you realize that it’s no fun to watch and be unable to do anything. You want to swear and scratch and stick your bulge in things, you don’t just want to… have to watch them kiss at their wedding. You don’t get sexy-mad, you get plain-Jane mad. Which proves once and for all that you are _not_ the fucking cuck, it’s totally Jade, eat shit Dave.

“< _Hey man, I brought brewskis,_ >” says Dave, from behind you. You whip your head around and just about punch him from how surprised you are.

“< _Don’t sneak up on me like that, you moron,_ >” you whisper-yell. You eye up what he’s holding. “< _And those aren’t even your so-called human-slang ‘brewskis,’ those are straight shots of vodka._ >”

“< _I don’t know any human slang, I only speak bird,_ >” he says. He hands you a shot as he scoots around the couch to sit down next to you. “Peep,” he says, to demonstrate.

You jerk your head back to watch Jade and Eridan smooch again. Fuck. Dave starts laughing at you in monotone.

“< _Calm down dude, I can feel your cuckoldry rays shining on me from way over here, for no reason. I mean, those lip smacks are more chaste than a belt without a key,_ >” he says. Before you can argue, he keeps mumble-talking. “< _And if that’s how she kisses you, then like, I’m sorry for your loss. When we were dating it was tongues: everywhere. I put my tongue in places I didn’t even know she had. I put my tongue in places that I’m pretty sure were portals to another dimension. You probably haven’t discovered them since you’re immune to magic._ >”

You have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. “< _But the body language, Dave. The gaze, the lean, the slight grip of their frond nubs, it’s fucking grotesque._ >

“< _Yeah, uh, you’re right, I see the grotesque motions of them totally not giving a shit about each other. Let those crazy kids be kids, let them not be grossed out by the other’s existence. Hell, one day, after all this not-horrible smooching, they might even want to be friends. Terrifying._ >” He throws back the shot, no chaser. “< _Imagination’s a scary beast, Karkat. Here, drink more._ >”

He pats your hand holding the shot. You have a hard time taking it with your shitty metal glove, the vodka kind of gets all over the sides of your mouth. Dave laughs at you again. 

The ritual for the MOTHER GOD is laughably short. The hulking subjugglator just throws up her hands and yells, “FORGIVE US, DEAR GODDESS. USELESS! USELESS! WHAT THE FUCK I CAN’T BELIEVE HUMANS DON’T GROUP MATE. AMPORA, BEST OF LUCK. MAY YOU COME BUCKETS TO COMPENSATE.”

Eridan makes a rare personal movement and covers his face with both hands.

There’s a fifteen minute break for the wedding party who has to sit up there the whole time. You don’t bother trying to catch Jade in the hall or anything, she’s probably dehydrated and needs to piss and you’re not going to get in the way of either of those bodily functions.

You, Rose, and Dave skip out on the next thirty minutes, as it involves a lot of chucklevooodoos. You mostly spend the time hogging the snack table, because all three of you apparently share the common ground of being massive gluttons. None of you drink _too_ much, you all collectively decide it’s too early, and tomorrow is supposed to be the big party day which you do _not_ want to be boozed-out for.

You come back for the RITUAL FEEDING, GROUP EFFORT part. The middlemost subjugglator dishes out the instructions as some attendants move the ritual table out of the way: everybody’s supposed to get in either the bride or groom’s line, feed their favorite a pre-provided chunk of foodstuffs, and pay their respects. Also everyone should WASH THEIR GODDAMN HANDS.

Jade and Eridan move to sit on the lowest step of the platform, while attendants set up a table with all the random shit you can put in their mouth in the middle aisle. You, Dave, and Rose take your time choosing. You pick a piece of strawberry, Rose a piece of banana, Dave a fucking chocolate dipped marshmallow coated in sprinkles. You make Rose hold your shitty metal gauntlets in her pocket dimension, it probably would make the fruit taste like lead poisoning and death. You all get in Jade’s line. It’s surprisingly long, you guess it’s a popular activity.

You notice that people are kissing her temples or her forehead or her hands after they give her something, saying little private things to her, so it's acceptable for you to plant one on her and whisper some stupid message in her ear, probably. Your plan is to shove some fruit in her mouth in a funny way, make her laugh a little, kiss her cheek and leave. But then you get up to her.

Both Rose and Dave are ahead of you, so you get to watch them shove food in her mouth from behind. You don’t hear them laughing or talking to her, which is fucking weird, and when Rose walks past you after completing her part, you notice she’s frowning. You stand in front of Jade after Dave gives her a surprisingly normal bow and takes his leave. You see why they weren’t smiling.

Jade, sitting on the bottom step, looks up at you like she's crumbling apart from the inside. Completely flat faced, dead eyed, miserable as all hell, wanting it all to be over, this fermented, slow sadness permeating her face. It nearly kills you. She tries to give you a little smile, but it's the same thin-lipped forced smile she gives every poor sap shoving papaya into her maw. So you abandon your plan of being the comic relief in favor of something more subtle.

You kneel in front of her, careful, as always, not to expose your prosthetic underneath your skirts. With the gentlest, moirailiest touches you can manage, you brush your knuckle along her jawline, tilt her chin towards you. You can feel her melt into your touch, she presses her cheek to your hand, she gives you this big eyed stare with over-mascaraed lashes. She opens her mouth and you place the fruit on her tongue.

You do something that is sort of risky vis a vis exposing your prosthetic: you do the full prostrate bow in front of her. Knees down, ass up, forehead pressed to her feet, where you drew your sign. You wrap your hands around her ankles, gentle. She’s still chewing strawberry so she can’t say anything, but you hear her make this tiny “Mmm!” noise. You want every goddamn shmuck looking in your direction at this very moment to know that you are utterly and perfectly hers, and you want Jade to know from the bottom of her heart that _you’re fucking devoted._

It seems to work. When you sit back up she blinks at you wide-eyed, totally surprised. Which is better than super bored, right?

You glance over at Eridan and he's still got that same dead look on as some troll sticks a chunk of starfruit on his tongue. Which simultaneously makes you feel better that Jade's got someone to empathize with up there and also makes you jealous because that someone is fucking Eridan Ampora. Good fucking gods, Dave was right, you seriously need to get over yourself.

You press a quick kiss to her forehead and take your leave. You kind of hang out around the edges where you can see who comes up to feed who. Vriska goes to Eridan’s line, where she tries to shove a handful of banana slices into his maw and some attendants have to pull her away in the ensuing fistfight. Feferi also goes to Eridan’s line, kissing both of his cheeks with obnoxious smacking sounds. Jane, cousin whose name you forgot, and Jade’s mother feed Jade like a normal fucking people. Her mother gives her what you perceive to be a affectionate kiss on her forehead. John tries to poke a piece of cake against Jade’s cheek, feels bad about it when it doesn’t go over well, and cleans it off perfectly with his windy powers. The only person she really laughs for is her father, who teleports to the front of the line, gives her a glowing dogbiscuit which was definitely not on the table, and then completely vanishes from the room. Jade snarfs it down.

You put your gauntlets back on after your hands are free of strawberry goop. You’re not taking chances now. Vriska being concerned about your armor was hells of suspicious, to put it lightly. 

The next ceremony is THE VILE GOD’s bit, which you’re avoiding for the whole fucking hour. Time to plague the table of snacks outside.

You, Dave, and Rose deem the buffet table too close to the main room for what is essentially going to be a whole hour of chucklevoodoo karaoke, probably. You’re banished to stand in some far off beige hallway, alone, peering out a rectangular window at the mountains glimmering in the late afternoon sun. You’re only alone for now because you demanded Rose and Dave procure you a plate of appetizers. You might be traumatized, but damn if you aren’t constantly hungry for finger foods.

Of course, being alone is a dangerous thing in a palace of intrigue. You smell the crackle of ozone a little too late.


	15. ... AND UNITE THESE BONDS OF BLOOD

Something hits you in the back, hard as a rock with a noise like two frying pans smashing together, and you stumble forward. You catch yourself on your prosthetic, then use your abled leg to power spin and face your attacker.

There she is. The belle of the sneaky sneak assassin ball. Meenah Peixes, trident out, her mouth open and gaping.

"What the shell!?" shouts Meenah. "That stuff's real plate? Who the fuck blew that kinda budget on you!?"

You don't answer because you're currently crouching and launching yourself at full force towards her, arms thrown out, ready to land an uppercut to her face. But for all the backstabbing protection this provides you (thanks Feferi?), you're about as fast as a slug in it. Meenah dodges, swings her trident back, and aims for your face. You deflect this by standing up and letting it hit your breastplate. You're thrown back by her thrust, and, fuck that's your one weakness. Well, one weakness besides for the glass canon thing. And the no healing thing. And Jade too, if you want to get technical.

She's got too much force behind her attack, you can't just catch yourself on the one leg that can handle the goddamn complexities of "stepping backwards" so your prosthetic skims against the floor and you fall on your ass.

She's too fast for your iron cage, so the throws her trident down at full force at the closest fleshy part she can reach-- your thigh. What she can't tell is that under your skirt, you're not fleshy at all. It's the thigh with a socket covering it. Titanium, beach. 

You can’t help it, you laugh. Fuck yes! You like getting stabbed and not dying instantly. Maybe you should try out this armor thing sometime.

The force can't go anywhere but up. You're against the floor and your prosthetic socket is insulated and Jade made it to resist contrived battle shit like this, so all the oomph of Meenah’s attack goes right back up into her. She shrieks and drops her trident, shaking out her arms. She doesn't miss a beat, swooping down to pick it right back up again, as you get yourself into a position that allows you to get up while aiming a kick.

Again, too slow, she dodges your kick but you land up on your knee, block another thrust of her trident with your bracer. That one you hold fast on, and she’s the one recoiling from the force.

“You were supposed to be easy to krill!” she screams.

“I’m wearing armor!” you say, maybe a little too happily.

Dave finally comes back from the snack table. Or more accurately, flashsteps back from the snack table, and you only see a blur of shadow before Dave has a broken sword pressed into the small of Meenah's back. You guess the guards never confiscated a sword snapped in the middle, probably because, like every other idiot fuckhead you've ever watched die at the hands of Dave Strider, they underestimate the usefulness of something broken and unsuspecting.

Meenah drops her trident, her hands held high in surrender. You don't punch her, even though she deserves it, and you stand up and give her your best glare of stern judgment.

"Alright," you say, folding your arms. "Why the fuck are you trying to kill me now? That's one hell of a twist! Did Condy break another deal with you? Couldn't cull her helpless little guppy heiress so you go after the even more helpless mutant?"

Rose Lalonde comes running down the same hall Dave came from, panting a little. You guess she doesn't share her brother's flashstepping abilities.

"Nah," says Meenah, blowing some hair out of her face. "Got nothin' to do with ol' Condy, though I know she wants you dead and buried too, but like, permanently. Dunno why. The only reason I want you dead is 'cuz I've been informed there's somefin' you can do for me when ya dead. Somefin’ pretty important."

Be a brainless magic-immune meat shield, probably. You open your mouth to ask for clarification, but your voice is cut short when you feel someone at your back and the cold point of a blade press itself neatly against your throat. Rose finally catches up to all three of you in the hallway, staring in horror at the void wizard about to kill you.

Dave yells, "Karkat!" while behind you the voice of Roxy Lalonde says, "Bye, kiddo," while Rose yells "Roxy, stop!" her hands out. You tense up. You've never had your throat slit before.

Roxy, for some ineffable reason, doesn't cut you. Rose leans forward and rests her hands on her thighs, panting. "We're related," she says.

"What, you and the troll?" asks Roxy, in your ear.

"Uh, no," says Rose, straightening up and regaining composure. "You and I. And that handsome fellow in glasses standing behind your matesprit, although he can't understand a word we're saying."

"< _I can sense you talking about me. I got the tingles,_ >" says Dave, his broken sword still against Meenah.

Roxy laughs. She still doesn't move her knife, you're afraid to swallow. "Sorry kids, I don't have a family."

Rose places her two pointer fingers out in front of her like she’s thinking real hard about somebody’s bulge size. “Alright, admittedly, I haven’t had a lot of time to dwell on this, in fact I’ve only had a single day. But look at the three of us. You appear as though you’re some long lost half-sibling, kidnapped at birth from one of our twenty mothers and sheltered away in some hippie commune, where your inherited powers of the Void were left to grow and boil out of control. Possibly as some sort of weapon for an agenda I cannot begin to fathom, although I suspect it involves this fuchsia blooded hot cake standing next to us.”

The way Roxy breathes all surprised in your ear says that Rose wasn’t too far off there. You will Rose to keep talking, as you really enjoy this ‘being alive’ thing.

“Anyway, in order to prove we’re related, I must engage in the time honored ceremony of our kind, passed down through our blood for generations,” Rose says. She cracks her knuckles, daintily, and then coughs. “It’s rap battle time.”

“The Alternian language doesn’t allow for rapping,” you croak out, feeling the scratch of the knife against your skin.

Rose sighs. “Only in the more traditionalist circles, Karkat. But no matter, I have another piece of proof.” She turns to her sibling. “< _Dave, would you please demonstrate your flashstepping abilities?_ >”

“< _Alright I have no idea what the hell is happening but I have staked a claim on prime hostage territory here,_ >” says Dave, gesturing at Meenah, who still has her arms held up over her head. “< _I’m not letting any of you fools steal my land, I’ve got-_ >”

“< _I promise you it won’t matter, Dave. Please just do it._ >”

Dave stares at Rose, in his deadpan way. “< _Alright,_ >” he says, shrugging.

He flashsteps away from Meenah, to the right of Rose. Meenah lets her arms drop. Dave’s a blur, a quick line of shadow you barely catch, not quite teleportation but fast enough to trick the untrained eye into believing it is. You realize what Rose was getting at with this: it is _damn_ similar to the way Roxy uses her own void powers. You’re not quite sure how uncommon void magic is, as you don’t pay attention to shit that can’t hurt you, but judging from how Rose is vetting their human-sisterhood on this it must be pretty fucking rare. Or maybe even genetic.

“No way,” says Roxy, and you feel the knife lower. You can breathe again. She squeals, and then starts clapping. “No fucking way! Oh my god, do it again! Okay, wait, Common, um, ‘< _Once more the vanishing apparition skirmisher!_ >’”

He does it again. He appears slightly further down the hall, making a pose like you just walked in on him vogueing alone in his room. 

Roxy basically skips around you, screaming in one of those high-pitched fangirl ways. She’s got her blindfold off, the holes for eyes dripping with those big, black, inky tears. She’s grinning ear to ear, the goop oozing around the edges of her smile. She bounces to Rose, grabs both of her hands, and just shimmies with excitement.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I’ve never seen- I thought only _I_ could- Oh my god, that is so cool!” She squeezes Rose tight in a big hug. “What if we’re actually related! Maybe I do have human broodmates!”

Rose pulls away to smile at Roxy. “You have our mother’s eyes,” she says fondly, and lifts up her bangs to expose some horrifying things that you wouldn’t consider to be eyes at all.

Roxy is _elated_. You and Meenah cringe at each other in a mutual look of understanding. Meenah shakes herself out of it to put her hands on her hips and begin scolding her matesprit.

“Yo, babe, you’re krillin’ me here. We’re on a mission! We’re enactin’ plans we made like, forever ago! And by forever I mean eighteen hours ago. You can’t seariously just… abandon the fuckin’ mission.”

Roxy spins to face Meenah, and throws down her hands and puts on a puppy dog frown. “But, but Meenaaaaah, you know I’ve always wanted to find my human broodmates. Can’t we just delay the plans… a little? Re-evaluate them after the wedding? We don’t need Mr. Red, Dead, Tall, and Handsome, right? He’s kinda just a ‘nice-to-have.’ But I’ve got a ‘need-to-have’ right now! I don’t wanna hurt the friend of my-” Roxy slaps her hands to her cheeks. “Oh my gaaawd, I don’t even know their names yet!”

Meenah gives in ridiculously easy to Roxy’s pouting, which is hilarious. Meenah rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine, fuck it. I give up. Go have your little… blood caste reunion, or waterever. But if we’re gonna be hangin’ around the wedding like this, we gotta change, I mean look at us.”

Meenah gestures at herself. Her clothing is similar to what you saw her in before, although there’s a stunning lack of gold jewelry for a seadweller, which is probably the issue. Roxy pouts again. “But- but-”

“Don’t fret,” says Rose. “We will be standing in this hall until,” she nods her head towards you, then to Dave. “< _How long until we return to the wedding venue?_ >”

“< _36 minutes and 28 seconds._ >”

“Another 35 minutes, roughly. Feel free to don your pretty ballgowns, ladies.”

This seems to placate Roxy, and she says her over-enthused goodbyes, pats you on the back while apologizing, and does her void-y thing to obliviate the two of them out of there.

"< _What just happened?_ >" asks Dave, when the three of you are alone again.

"< _A scathing and effective critique of your lack of language education,_ >" says Rose.

"< _Yeah, whatever. What's the point in learning Alternian if you can't even rap in it._ >"

"< _Ah, what an insult. I'm sure the metaphorical representation of an entire body of language is deeply offended._ >"

"< _You can do slam poetry,_ >" you say, then shake your head back and forth. "< _Wait, fuck you, why am I helping you?_ >"

Both of them shift so they’re on either side of you, and both sling their arms around your shoulders in tandem. “< _Because you love and adore us above all other things,_ >” says Rose.

“< _Truth. The lady speaks the truth,_ >” says Dave.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “< _You two are really pushing the extent of my gratitude. But, even though you’re both insufferable bulgemunching grub holes, uh… thank you. For the rescue._ >”

Rose and Dave fistbump each other over your chest.

You’re kind of trapped in the hallway due to chucklevoodoos, so you’re forced to attend the apparent Rose/Roxy/Dave “family reunion.” And since you’re completely unable to relate to human family shenanigans, that means you’re forced to socialize with Meenah. You’re both sitting next to each other on the ground, backs against the wall, watching the three blond horrorshows swap addresses and personal info. 

Meenah, now clad in 800% more jewelry, turns to you and pats you on the shoulder. “So, like, hypothetically, if sooooomeeeebody culls ol’ Condy in the near future and assumes the throne… would you be like, some kinda badass magic immune general for them? Like you were seapposed to be.”

She wants to pull a coup? Seriously? That’s what she’s after? She could never pull it off, she has like, one ally, exactly. You stare at her. “You literally just tried to fucking kill me.”

“I take it that’s a…” she makes a face like she’s actually trying to guess what you could have meant. “… Noooo?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely it’s a no.” 

She shrugs. “A’ight, well, can’t force ya if you’re not dead I guess. But maybe I can codvince you someday far in the future.” She winks at you.

After you talk with her for a bit, you find out you... actually kind of like her. You've got a weird amount of ethical stances in common. Still 100% not going to be some fucked up general for her after a coup d'état on the Condescension she'd never successfully pull off. Even if she did manage to pull a coup, you still wouldn’t be a fucking military leader. In the span of time since you were abandoned by the empire, you've realized giving life-or-death orders really isn't your thing. You'd rather just give advice.

You return to the wedding with two new friends, just after the ceremony for Eridan’s caste patron, THE DESOLATED GOD, begins. Miraculously, no one stole your couch, probably due to the fact that Rose arranged thirty empty wine/champagne/mimosa/apéritif glasses in a vaguely lewd shape on top of it. Where did she even get that many glasses, none of you fucking drank that much. 

The three seadweller matrons are standing up on the top tier of the shrine, so you’re unable to assess Jade and Eridan’s current condition. They say some garbage about wishing riches and success upon the lucky couple, then the young one and the battle-hardened one leave the platform to leave the heavy-set one alone. She gives this regal, sweeping, über articulate lecture on how violet bloods are superior and we should all weed out the weak trolls and cleanse the species and yadda yadda, same old same old. This is why you ditched Alternia. The crowd, the troll part of which is the choir whom the seadweller matron is preaching to, goes wild with applause. Fuck. You are suddenly immensely thankful most everyone here who’s heard of The Other Vantas thinks you’re dead as a doorknob. Although if you didn’t fuck it up when you were nine in a half sweeps then they’d be applauding you and… nah, not going down that shitty train of thought again. You wouldn’t have been happy if you had to be like Kankri.

The matron switches topics and starts talking about Eridan, how important he is to the ‘success of the race’ with his navy, his battles, blah blah. You can see him now, sitting on his knees and facing the audience, and he tries to stay straight and stoic but, like, fuck does he looked drained. You almost feel bad for him up there. Meenah and Roxy get bored after fifteen minutes of this and ditch you guys to go have shenanigans elsewhere.

After that, Eridan and Jade exchange rings. Jade doesn’t even try to hide her crushing, despairing misery as Eridan slips the ring on her left hand. She bites her lip and her mouth contorts into a stressed-out weepy frown when she adjusts it, face all sunken in. Fuck, no, not your witch, not your moon and stars. You’re fucking wrecked by that, she shouldn’t have to feel all disgusting and sad today, she shouldn’t have to be doing this. You vow to do anything to cheer her up after this. You’d do _anything_ to make it better. You will her to keep going, only another couple hours until you can hold her again.

All three subjugglators step out in front of the shrine and gesture towards the back of the room once the exchange is over. The middle subjugglator bellows some shit about how “Her Imperious Condescension made all this OBSCENE GLORY AND SPLENDOR possible, let us thank her profusely,” and the windows are all hit with a light-dimming spell. A spotlight comes down over the now-closed middle door, there’s a drumroll from somewhere, and the Condesce kicks through the wood so hard it sends splinters flying everywhere. There she is, Ms. Alternia.

The Condesce puts on some obnoxious sunglasses, then makes a flexing pose, her muscles popping in ways that make your eyes water. The crowd screams like they’re at a boyband concert. Some trolls stand and applaud.

You haven’t lived in Alternia for sweeps, but if it’s anything like when you were a grub, Her Imperious Condescension is immensely popular with everyone in the dark blue/purple spectrum. All those genocidal, anti-human, anti-different, holier-than-thou policies and all. Feferi’s the one more popular with the lowbloods, because she’s filled mostly with empathy instead of weird racist ideals. If Feferi were to try to forcefully take the throne instead of Meenah, the only way she’d be able to do it is through rousing support with the lower spectrums. Too bad Feferi can’t hold a crowd worth shit.

The Condesce spins around, flips her hair over both shoulders, and then dabs. All the highblooded trolls fucking lose it. The humans also cheer, but mostly because they’re afraid.

You and Rose and Dave look at each other with a mutual empathy over how fucking awful the Condesce is. She exits through the hole she made in the door, the windows are cleared up, and the ceremony continues. The last god, that one’s yours.

You always pay attention to rituals involving your own caste's god, even though the rituals always consist of made-up garbage THE SECRET GOD doesn’t care about. Not like you 100% know that or anything, but you feel like you're in a better place to judge the credibility of certain ceremonies here, considering you're literally one of His two charges currently on this godforsaken realm. He's just got so little lore in comparison to all the other gods that worshipers make up random shit to do to entertain themselves, and it's always pain-related, because being a mutant is apparently all pain and suffering, all the time.

You've never met his avatar, but apparently He's supposed to be a pretty nice Dude, albeit an esoteric one.

Anyway, this ritual is neither esoteric or nice, they have to cut each other’s hands open with shiny gold knives. Jade looks extremely uncomfortable doing this to Eridan, who winces briefly as she draws the knife down his palm. When it’s Eridan’s turn to do the same, he isn’t nearly as uncomfortable slicing her open. Jade doesn’t show any sign of pain at all. Gods, fuck, you want to give her a hug so bad.

They clasp hands, and you’re not sure how many blood transferable diseases between humans and trolls there are but there’s no way that’s not fucking dangerous. They have to suffer in pain for a couple minutes while a subjugglator spouts some bullshit about them uniting, before casting the healing spell. Jade and Eridan drop each other’s hands as soon as all the blood’s gone and the wounds are cleared up.

Then, finally, it’s over. No more ceremonies, no more boredom, they’re married. The subjugglators dismiss the “watching gods” with a wild and obnoxious variety of incense, and the married couple leaves the platform and exits down the middle aisle. At previous interspecies weddings you’ve been to, this is supposed to be kind of a slow procession, but Eridan and Jade amp it up to 200 and basically book it right the fuck out of there while clinging onto each other’s arms. People throw beans at them while they flee. What the fuck, where’d everyone get beans. It must have been when you were ditching. Although hurling a hard bunch of seeds at Eridan’s face wouldn’t be as fun when he looks so… miserable.

Everyone slowly migrates to THE BUFFET CORRAL for… more drinking. It’s a horrible ranch themed bar/buffet room with cowhide seats and lassos hanging on the walls everywhere you look. You don’t really talk to Rose and Dave (and Roxy and Meenah) much, just sort of observe the crowd as you follow them around. You’re distracted by your crippling sensitivity for your witch. Your heart just, aches for her. You really hope she’s alright.

John and Feferi are standing next to each other at the bar, and they often lean in close, whisper something to each other, and then give the outward appearance of being deliciously scandalized. It makes the two of them look like hardcore gossip mongers, but judging from the way Feferi false-faced you a few times already, they're probably not talking about who fucked who in the storage closet at all. They're pretending. And they're damn convincing, you wouldn't have caught it if you hadn't realized how good Feferi is at poker faces.

Although the delicate way that John presses his hand against Feferi’s shoulder to lean into her, to nearly brush his lips against the tip of her fin as he whispers, to occasionally fix her hair despite it not being necessary in the least... that makes you suspicious. John doesn't touch Vriska like that. You wonder if they're doing some sacrilegious interspecies canoodling, and in what quadrant. You've never really seen them hang out together, so it's hard to box them into a label based on just some intimate talking.

Hell yeah, this is what Alternian parties _should_ be about, trying to get dirt on your friends that they neglected to tell you about so you can rub it in their faces later. It shouldn’t be about… existential suffering about your love. You wish you had it in you to go up and try to decipher what quadrant John and Feferi might possibly be flirting in.

Dinner follows, which is in that same library-like room you started this whole party fiasco in. It’s a little brighter lit this time, since it’s early evening, but lacking any windows the atmosphere is still fairly intimate. The process is buffet-like, essentially people grab plates from a large table in the center of the room and fill it up with a mouth watering spread of Alternian cuisine— a lot of insects, a lot of exoskeletons, and a lot of thick spicy sauces to dip said crunchy deliciousness in. All finger foods, of course. 

It’s really cramped in here, because there’s less standing room and more big comfy library chairs and little end tables set up to eat on. You didn’t notice earlier since you were basically too afraid to move beyond one corner of the room, but the “library” appears to consist of at least six different rooms, attached to each other through small wooden doors. With your plate of wondrous cuisine, you skim around the crowd to find the people you’re looking for.

Because you’re a part of Jade’s wedding posse, you’re allowed to sit at the big kids’ table. And considering you’ve spent like, the whole fucking day around the same two people, you think it’s time to expand your social circle. You find John in the corner of the very last room you check, sitting at a small table with five high-backed armchairs surrounding it. And look at that, one spot open.

You sit down in the cozy corner with John, Vriska, Jane, and Jade’s… cousin, was it? You have no idea how any of these little multicolored monkeys are related, looking at her royal crisscross-y incest-y family tree gives you a headache. Whatever, he’s the Death Priest who’s third in line to the throne, after John and Jane. He’s resurrected you a couple times, when you lived in Cammor.

For all intents and purposes this guy should be the hottest thing to you, considering he looks like John and Jade slammed together into one super human of total sexy, but you don’t actually find him attractive. Beauty is a state of mind, and all that garbage. And this guy’s state of mind is a crippling barrage of self-perceived inadequacy, he just oozes it out of every pore. You can relate, but even at your worst you at least tried to fake it. This guy just… fucking fails.

What was his name again? Jape? 

“< _Hi Karkat!_ >” says John, who appears to be in the highest spirits you’ve seen him with yet. You wonder if something changed with his Dad. “< _Have you met Jake yet? He’s my cousin and he’s a super cool Death Priest, which means he’s a pro at chess._ >”

Oh, right, Jake. You set your plate down on the table as Jake says, “< _Oh, yes, I daresay we’ve met many a time. You’re a rather… unfortunate chap as far as staying alive goes, aren’t you?_ >”

“< _And you’re a rather ‘unfortunate chap’ as far as colloquial Common goes,_ >” you snap. You feel bad about it when Jake’s face sinks, but you’re saved by John laughing at your comment, not taking you seriously. You guess Jake really looks up to him, because Jake starts laughing too. 

“< _Anyway,_ >” says John, after recovering. “< _Are you still doing okay?_ >”

“< _Yeah, fine,_ >” you bite into a crab shell slathered in a yogurt and butter sauce. Jane stares at you like you’re a dragon devouring a living sheep. You note that the humans have different food, stuff that’s way less crunchy and more unfortunately flavored. Vriska has only bugs on her plate, no sauces. She makes eye contact with you while biting a roasted praying mantis’ head off. Goddess, she has terrible taste. “< _Have you talked to Jade yet? Where is she?_ >”

John shrugs. “< _I dunno, but she’s supposed to-_ >”

You feel someone flick you in the back of the head just as you lean forward to take another bite of crab shell. You snap your head around and just about spit the bite of exoskeleton you have in your mouth at Dave Strider’s face. You don’t, but that fuck deserves it.

“< _’Sup, everyone. I’m here to take names and make fun of Vriska’s bug eating,_ >” he says, chowing down on a chicken wing.

“< _I speak enough Common to insult your dumb grubchute fodder too,_ >” says Vriska.

“< _Yeah, yeah._ >”

You turn back to John. You’re not letting this one hang, nope. “< _So where is she?_ >”

“< _Oh, right, well, it’s tradition for the bride and groom to sneak out before the dinner’s over, and you’re not supposed to look for them. I’d be surprised if Jade didn’t just teleport out after grabbing a plate of grub._ >” John smiles. But this is serious, this is no smiling matter. All rational thought leaves your head, all thoughts about how depressed Jade and Eridan looked, replaced only by the single-minded track of ‘they’re alone, they could _fuck_ ’.

You throw down your crab and stand up in a rush. “< _What!? They can’t fucking ditch and go off to some clandestine respite block meeting! I have to cockblock them!_ >”

Dave can't hold it anymore, he just erupts with laughter. John narrows his eyes and gives you this confused look. "< _Um, Karkat, I'm pretty sure they're not gonna bang. There’s no way._ >"

"< _Yes they will, they'll fuck if I'm around,_ >" you blurt out, without thinking.

Dave laughs so hard he starts crying, watery black tears oozing from underneath his sunglasses. Jake and Jane just look confused. You don’t think Vriska caught your Common. John folds his arms and gives you a stern brotherly look. "< _Oh my gosh, Karkat, gross, no. My sister is waaaaaaaay too innocent for a three some._ >"

Dave immediately stops laughing. You facepalm. You make a movement to leave, now suddenly hellbent on getting to the bridal suite, but Dave pushes you back down into the chair. You sputter, your butt stuck in the cushions.

“< _Sit down and eat your fucking crab, crab,_ >” says Dave, pushing down on your shoulder. “< _It’s 7pm, boning hour doesn’t start for at least another ninety minutes. Also, like, trust your girlfriend, honestly, it’s creepy._ >”

“< _She’s my witch, dumbass,_ >” you correct. You don’t admit he’s right. Jade would never betray your trust, not on purpose. And she especially wouldn’t do so when she was depressed and sad. You still want to find her right away, but you suppose you should eat your dinner first, you don’t want to apply copious comfort hugs when hungry.

You sit down and eat your fucking crab.


	16. Pandimensional Chess: Pregame

You stand in front of the door to the bridal suite, after changing out of your armor. You feel exhausted. Well, you always feel exhausted, but tonight it's an extra special level of exhaustion, inflamed by both your apparent crippling anxiety about clowns and the love of your life having a terrible fucking day. You would give anything to curl up with her and just chill out, but you probably can't do that tonight, not with an infuriating third party present. On the upside, at least you, Jade, and said third party will probably have enough banter to take your mind off things.

You try the door of the bridal suite, it's locked. You rap on the door with your knuckles. "< _Hey,_ >" you say. "< _It's me._ >"

"What's the password?" groans a very tired Jade from inside.

"What? Seriously!? You're requesting a password?" you say, banging your head against the doorframe. You decide to just bullshit one. "Snausages?”

"Good enough," says Jade. You see the green sparks of her necromancy on the door, and it slides open. You step in and lock it behind you.

They are... not in the positions you expected them to be in, honestly.

You really don't like the tired mood of this clandestine affair in the bridal suite, you kind of wanted... like a fight, or verbal sparring, or Jade being a _totally not sexy_ auspice or something. Something to take your mind off the day. And theirs, too.

"Holy shit, what's happening here?" you ask, more gentle than anything. You figure since they're basically in their pajamas, you don't need to wear this dumb skirt thing anymore, so you unwrap it and toss it aside. Eridan must be really out of it, because he doesn't even bother looking up at you to ogle your prosthetic.

"Urgghgh," Jade groans.

"Pain and suffering," translates Eridan, into his hands. "I'm drownin' in a lake of vestigial boredom."

"We tried playing cards but we gave up," Jade says into the floor. "My head hurts. Everything suuuuuuucks."

You can't believe you're the peppiest one out of the three of them. The world shifted on its axis, things have gone dismal and flipways. You walk over to Jade, who is currently oozing herself off the bed to flop flat on the floor. You crouch down near the top of her head and she turns onto her back, fixing her shirt. Her glasses are shoved up on her forehead, so she gives you this upside-down, squinty frown. You press both your hands against her cheeks, soft as possible. 

“< _Hey love,_ >” you say, quiet. “< _How are you?_ >”

She looks and smells clean, she must have taken a bath to get all that makeup and gold glitter off. She glances to the side, biting her lip. “< _Kiss me? Just a little?_ >”

She obviously doesn’t want to talk about her feelings. But you’re not going to argue— even you’re not a big enough asshole to subject Eridan to an hour long feelings jam in a language he doesn’t understand. So after a brief glance his way (his head and hands are still best friends), you do what she asks.

She kisses you like a dead fish. At least she doesn’t taste like one. With your lips pressed against the most unenthusiastic pieces of flesh they have ever been slammed against, you decide that something _has_ to be done about this. You’re going to fix all the bad mojo in this room, goddammit, or your name isn’t Karkat ‘Relationship Master’ Vantas. You pull yourself off of Jade, stand up, then pick up her arms and drag her over to the table. Jade does not even complain, she just moans at you. Eridan literally could not care less.

You position her so that she’s on the opposite side of the table from Eridan, laying on the ground. You finagle yourself to sit down crosslegged next to Jade, and look at the hands of cards laid down on the table. "Poker?" you venture.

Jade, with great effort, pushes herself up, straightens her glasses, and crawls into your lap at a snail’s pace. She groans like, the whole time. She sits on you sidesaddle, slinging your arms around your neck and leaning her head in to rest against yours. You turn, press your lips to her forehead, wrap your own arms around her waist and pull her tight. Eridan, oddly, does not give a shit about your PDA. Even if he did give a shit, you probably wouldn't stop it anyway. You both needed a hug.

And a kiss. You find her mouth, but keep it light. You’re not that brazen. Jade holds you tighter, pulls away with just a hint of a smile, which is much better than what her face was doing before. The hurt on your heart eases up a little.

"Poker," Eridan finally confirms. He finds his glasses on the table, sits up, and puts them on. His mouth tugs into a frown at how entangled the two of you look in crystal clear vision, but he doesn't bring it up. "Playin' it with just two people is fuckin’ pathetic. And with no money either."

"Three's a crowd?" you venture. You reach around Jade to gather all the cards together. "Don't have any money on me, you'll just have to deal with knowing I crushed you spiritually when my poker hands bend you over and assert their dominance."

"Nah," says Eridan. He still sounds bored, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his chin in his hands. "We'll just raise the stakes. If I win, Karkat takes his shirt off."

His dry tone didn't even change. You’re pretty sure he meant it as a half-assed attempt at a joke, but you’re Karkat Vantas: pro-expert at taking people seriously when you aren’t supposed to. You raise an eyebrow, begin shuffling the cards. "Seriously? You couldn't think of anything more creative than strip poker?"

"And if I win," says Jade, sounding a little less tired in your arms. "Karkat takes his shirt off."

"Seriously!?" you say, almost dropping the cards. "Yeah, okay, thanks for sending me straight to objectification station, you hormonal teenagers. Here’s my bet: If I win, I'm not taking anything off, ever, for any of you ever again."

Jade giggles a little. Eridan’s mouth twitches. "A’ight. Deal 'em out," he says. "And get ready to strip for us, mutant."

Jade kisses you on the cheek before climbing out of your lap to sit next to you. You deal out the hands. Three minutes later, you're laying down your cards. Flush.

"Eat them and weep, grubmunchers," you say, confidently. "Point: shirts."

Eridan and Jade both bluffed and lost with terrible hands. Eridan slams his palms against his forehead, Jade gestures towards the sky like it was Death themselves who cursed her cards.

“Okay, next round,” says Jade, more determined than ever. She grins as she piles all the cards together and begins shuffling them. “I want…”

“I want a kiss from Kar’,” says Eridan, with a kind of mock-angry expression on his face.

Jade slams the deck on the table. “No, _I_ want a kiss from Kar’!” 

You slam your hands on the table. “I’m kissing no one! Fuck you! My lips are my own!”

Wait, why the fuck did you say that. You’d totally kiss Jade. Too late now. You look over at her as she finishes shuffling.

Jade's underclothes are extremely thin. She has this loose crop top on with a low scoop neckline and clearly nothing underneath. You can see the outline of the curve of her breasts, her cleavage, fuck she looks soft. She's also, ah, a little cold. Her petticoat is large and goes down to her ankles, it's drawn tight at her hips from how she sits. You see the implication of a dark patch through the fabric where the petticoat folds between her legs. No panties, great. And you're not sure if you mean that sarcastically or genuinely.

Eridan’s shirt is of a similar material but there ain’t nothin’ to look at there. He does appear… delightfully ruffled though, his hair falling every which way, giving you a sudden and unwanted urge to run your hands through it, his shoulders exposed just enough for you to sink your teeth in. Fuck, this is bad.

You decide to stop staring because you do not want a single one of your pheremones activating, you are not giving either of these fucks any sort of excuse whatsoever. Jade deals out the cards.

You win again. You’re usually a pathetic loser when it comes to games of chance, so it feels good to rub it in their faces. You start laughing, manically, as you lay down your cards. Eridan grips the edge of the table like he’s going to flip it over. Jade hurls her cards at your face like a bunch of ninja stars. 

“What the fuckin’ hell, Kar’?” yells Eridan, in a fit of passion. “Jade, we gotta team up. We gotta take this guppy down.”

Jade grins like this is a great idea, but then it hits her. “There’s no teams in poker!” Jade yells back.

Eridan points a bedazzled finger at you. “Yeah, fuck this, if I win, I’m kissin’ Jade.”

Jade pounds her fists on the table. “And if I win I’m kissing Eridan!”

You freeze, a horrible chill going down your spine. Eridan gathers up all the cards and begins shuffling. “< _Jade, hold the fuck up, what are you trying to do here? You absolutely know what I’m going to do if one of you wins._ >"

That takes all the excitement out of her. She deflates. She bites her lip and frowns at you, a little distressed. "< _I... I'm sorry, Karkat. I'm in a weird mood I guess. But that's really no excuse, I shouldn't be doing that. I'll stop. I don't want to make you uncomfortable._ >"

You open your mouth to agree with her and tell her to change her poor excuse for a bet, but it’s caught in your throat when you see how her expression changed when you told her off. Just seconds ago, she was having fun, distracted from the day. And now, that look of misery is back on her face, her spirits dampened again.

For the first time today, she was happy. You want her to keep feeling that, and that's all you need. You can spoil her. She wants to be a sacrilegious, fight-starting, sex auspice? You know what? Fuck it. Not like she hasn't broadened your views on the quadrants before.

You take a deep breath. "< _As soon as I goddamn utter anything even remotely close to my safe word, I want you ten lawn rings away from Eridan within seconds,_ >" you say. Jade’s face lights up. You point at her accusingly. "< _And also I want you to know that if you fuck this middle leaf thing up, there is a very strong possibility I cull Eridan in cold blood._ >"

She giggles. "< _I can fantasy-Weekend at Bernie's him for the navy transfer tomorrow?_ >"

"What are you guys talkin' about?" whines Eridan.

You slam your hands on the table and glare at him. "I'm telling Jade that I'm going to slaughter you by stranglehold if you even think about touching her." You hesitate. It’s probably the most awkward fucking thing ever to ask for consent for a horrendous quadrant crossing threesome, so you lace your voice with heavy implication when you say, “… If this is going to go the way we probably all vaguely think it’s going to go.”

“The way _what’s_ gonna g- Oh?” Eridan does not seem as concerned about the sanctity of the quadrants as you are, because his eyebrows raise in one of those pleasant-surprise kind of looks. And considering Eridan looks grumpier than _you_ most of the time, that’s no small feat. “Now that’s all sorts of hot. I’m down for anythin’.”

"I mean it. It might not be a sacrilegious auspice threesome at all, and might be more of a sex murder death party," you say, grimacing. "Please note there is a very real possibility I will slaughter you mid-pail, and it will be unpleasant for everyone, forever."

Eridan could not give less of a fuck. He shrugs as he finishes shuffling. “Jade can just fantasy-Weekend at Bernie's me tomorrow.”

Jade claps her hands together. "That's what I said!"

"I'm gonna win this hand then," says Eridan, dealing out the cards. He looks directly at you. "Because I'd love to start this thing off right by gettin' to know by wife a little better. I wanna meet and greet every fuckin’ curve of hers."

Urge to murder... Rising... You drag your nails down your face and groan over what you just agreed to do. Jade bites her lip with a poorly constrained glee that he's successfully trolling the shit out of you.

“If I win this round,” you say. “I’m punching a hole straight through Eridan’s face.”

“Eh, you’re not gonna win,” says Eridan, shrugging. He picks up his hand. “I’m somethin’ of a card shark.”

The round is four minutes of professional-level poker faces, with Jade smiling so wide her face will probably be stuck like that, Eridan giving you infuriating bedroom eyes over the tips of his cards, and you trying to keep your cheeks just a shade under ‘beet red.’ Eridan lays down his hand, and of course, of fucking course, it’s a royal flush. It’s happening. You’re making it happen. The forbidden auspice threesome from hell.

You steel yourself to humor them, like, how fucking hard can it be? You know for a fact Jade's just trying to put on a show for you and Eridan isn't _really_ out to snatch her heart away, he just likes trolling you. And you can put a stop to it if you want, which you've determined fixes a big part of your jealousy issue. See, look at that, you got your feelings sorted out like a big boy.

“C’mere then,” he says, sitting back against the couch. He tilts his head towards Jade, his mouth twitches into a crooked smile. “We don’t got all day.”

Jade looks like you just set her free in a dog biscuit shop, and gods damn, is she hungry. She basically jumps up over the table to get to him. But just because you agreed to this seriously fucked up tomfoolery, doesn’t mean you have to take it sitting down.

You stand up in a rush. “What!? No! It doesn’t count! He cheated, he literally just admitted he cheated!”

“Sorry my guy, contract’s bindin’,” says Eridan, as Jade gets between the table and him. She stands between his spread legs and leans down to press her hands on his shoulders. Jade turns to you, grin as big as a fucking bear, and mouths the word ‘threesome.’ He tilts his head up to her, touches the side of her jawline. Then she does it, her eyes fall shut and she kisses him soft, with no tongue.

And it’s… it’s not hot at all. It’s like watching them at the wedding. There’s none of that kismesis rage, there’s just a really slow, base anger building up in you. And it’s fucking uncomfortable. This was a shitty idea. You don’t want her to kiss him, she’s _yours_.

“Fuck this,” you say, mostly to yourself. You step around the table to get yourself at an angle to pull her away from him. Just as you reach out for her shoulder, Jade flicks her hand, green sparks flickering along it, and you go flying backwards.

Your prosthetic dances with Jade’s necromancy, and you’re thrown down against the too-soft bourgeoisie carpet, your leg plastered to the floor. You’re dragged away from them about a foot or so, and when you try to scramble up, you realize she’s not going to let you go. With her horrible god-powers of kink, she’s forcing you to stay put, stomach pressed against the ground, watching them. Fuck.

You prop yourself up as much as you can. Since your whole left thigh is basically glued to the ground, you're essentially trapped in a slouchy upward dog pose.

She gets into Eridan’s lap, legs over his thigh and sprawled out across the couch. You know she’s doing this so you have a clear view of both of them, and also because they both check to make sure you’re watching before dryly kissing again. And seriously, you don’t know how much more of this you can take. You might let your safe word fly. This scene is just… unpleasant to watch.

But, you forgot, if there's one thing Eridan's good at, it's causing a goddamn scene. He ducks away from her mouth, takes her hand in his, and kisses up the inside of her arm. It’s all dashing, chivalric romance-like, which fuck him, that's your thing. Jade watches him, a little surprised.

He lets his lips linger over her wedding ring, gives her this side-eyed heavy lidded glance like 'yeah kar wwere married noww and im going to take her glowwin nubile maidenhood' And Jade seems to give him that look right the fuck back, this kind of weird level of mutual understanding passing between the both of them. And _that's_ the thing that finally triggers you. Something about the association with property and human weddings and love just sets you off. You've got to punish him, hold him down, show him who he takes orders from. You've got to take Jade in your arms and demonstrate how much better you are than him, make her only yours. 

"Eridan, I am going to pound your ass into the fucking floor if you don't get your claws off her," you yell.

Jade snickers, even Eridan cracks a bit of a smile, but neither of them look at you. Eridan kisses her again, and you can't tell what level of enthusiasm they're making out with but damn if it doesn't make you want to rip Eridan off and make him suck your nook off until your bulge unsheathes.

Eridan lets his hands wander, you watch with a nightmarish arousal. His cold blooded hands on her bare waist, the shift of her semi-transparent skirt as he reaches around her thigh, how he presses his fingers between her legs, finding the right spot. Jade gasps, very soft, like she's trying to hide her enjoyment from you. He moves his fingers against her, she arches her spine towards him, and you're fucking livid. Your head gets woozy with mating hormones, and there's a slightly uncomfortable twinge of pain at the base of your pelvis, so you reach down to adjust. Although when your hand is there, you can't really bring yourself to stop rubbing at it.

“What the fuck is that, how do you know how to do that,” you stutter at them. You cannot believe you’re kind of, sort of, reveling in this. “Eridan, I refuse to even entertain the idea that you’ve had sex with a human with a vagina before, _no human_ would sleep with you.”

Jade stops kissing him to start to say something, but Eridan dips down to bite her neck and whatever it was vanishes into an “Ah-”. Oh gods, those are going to leave marks. He’s marking her.

How dare he, you’ve laid claim to her neck ten million times by now. Your blood runs hot, your heart hammers, all you can think about is how Jade is yours. You fondle yourself _that_ much harder. Your nerve endings down there are too shot to enjoy the masturbatory experience, but something about the feel of your bulge against your palm helps with your psychology.

Eridan grins at her as he runs his hands along her breasts. She whimpers, actually _whimpers._ "You ever fucked a seadweller before?" he asks her.

"Oh who says it's fucking, now?" you yell. "I've seen your bulge and yours is so pathetic you can't even hope to make it in, hell, I'd be surprised if-"

"Just Feferi, like, a loooooooong time ago," she says, completely ignoring you.

"-you can even use it for anything at all on the human body, I mean-"

"Did you like the temperature diff'?" Eridan asks, also completely ignoring you.

"-it's so weak and, gahhhhh, fucking stop!"

She laughs, that woozy light one she has when she's aroused. "I don't remember... You should totally test it out to jog my memory."

Jade’s still got an iron necromantic grip on your prosthetic, so you’re forced to watch the debacle of Jade straddling Eridan, doing something mysterious with their clothing, and settling into a comfortable position. You can’t see what, exactly, said comfortable position accomplishes, because Jade’s got her back to you and her petticoat is covering all the action.

They don’t really touch each other, Jade has her hands on his waist to balance herself and Eridan has his arms slung out around the back of the couch, head lolled back and looking like he should be smoking a cigarette right about now. She rocks her hips against his, not quite griding, soft bulges can't take that kind of pressure. "Okay," she huffs. "This is... pretty nice."

Judging from Eridan’s face, the way his head is relaxed over the back of the couch, he finds it a lot more than 'pretty nice.' "Better than Fef'?" he mutters.

"Well we were virgins, so duh," Jade says.

Okay, you can't take this anymore, you're getting over there and fucking them up. You don't know if you're going to bend Jade over and claim your archaic troll dominance or bend Eridan over and claim your archaic troll dominance, but you'll decide when you get there.

You hurriedly undo the straps around the socket of your prosthetic, twist it off, and scramble out of it, backwards, so you can heft your ass up onto the table to sit on it. Your bulge has been out for some time, you can see the outline of it thrashing in your pants, angry that it isn't currently inserted and/or wrapped around someone/something. Soon, you whiny tentacle, very soon.

You swivel around on the table to face these huge assholes. Eridan looks around Jade at you like he's surprised you had the gall to take a limb off, and Jade turns to smile at you like 'you solved my necromancy puzzle! yaaaay.' You're too consumed by bodily lust to tell what your face is doing, but is must be terrifying because they both suddenly tense up when they get a good look at you.

"Off," you order, your voice coming out a lot harsher and angrier than you intended. "Now."

Jade obeys without question, which gives you a rush. She moves off Eridan to sit right next to him, her petticoats still hiding the remnants of whatever witchcraft he was performing on her. Eridan’s exposed bulge just fucking drips with that transparent pre-slurry and her... human... lubricant...? Whatever that stuff is called. Damn it, it doesn't matter, you're gonna fuck that right off of him until he smells like you and only like you.

You manage to get on the couch with them, your right knee between Jade’s legs, and half your ass and residual limb firmly seated on Eridan’s thigh. You press your leg against Jade’s pussy, which she takes due advantage of. You don't give Eridan the same pleasure as you only have one leg, oops. You press one hand tight to his throat, dig your unfortunately short nails into his neck. He grins, his bulge tries to rub itself off against the hem of his shirt. Gods, everyone’s clothes are going to be completely unwashable after this mess.

They both smell like each other, it's infuriating. You want to smear hormones over everything in the room and you have no idea where to start. You wish you had like, twenty dicks right now. You feel kind of frozen by indecision, who the hell are you going to voraciously ravish first out of a sexy urge to claim your territory? Might as well get their input.

"Alright," you tell them, way too seriously. "I needed my bulge shoved down someone’s throat about ten minutes ago, I needed it to goddamn spill down until they're just begging for me to take it out and fuck them into the ground. Who's going to be the brave volunteer available for the claiming?"

Jade eagerly points at Eridan, nominating him for the slaughter. Eridan blinks at you, then starts picking at one of his ridiculously sharp teeth with his pinky finger. “Yeah, uh, you sure about that Kar’?”

“If you even think about hurting me…” You adjust your grip on his throat, find the slits of his gills set underneath his fins, and push the tips of your fingers just barely into them. They feel slippery, almost wet. He gasps, tugs on your wrist, his gills flare uselessly around your fingers. He arches his back against the couch, his pheremones go nuts.

And that you can’t resist, his body is just begging you to dominate it in classic-kismesis style. You kiss him, sharp, prick his lip so you can satiate your literal bloodlust. Jade reaches between you and him and begins unbuttoning your shirt.

You let go of Eridan when she tugs it off your arms, keeping your loose undershirt on. Eridan takes the chance to dip down and sink his teeth into your newly exposed shoulders, which stings _real_ good, and since your arms are currently occupied by Jade pulling some clothing down them you don’t have to pretend to want to pull him off. She tosses your shirt aside, reaches over, and tugs Eridan’s horns gently back, pulling him away from you and towards the back of the couch. She places a hand over both of your mouths so you can’t start violently making out again.

“Okay, this is pretty great,” she says, with this hyped-up, wide eyed, smiley expression on her face. “But you’d know what’d be even better? If I got to watch, you know-” She removes her hands from your mouths to make a blowjob gesture, which she can barely manage to do right because she’s smiling too hard. “I really, really-” She inhales. “-really want to watch.”

“You heard her,” you say, nodding at Eridan. “On your knees.”

Eridan raises an eyebrow as you shift into Jade’s lap to let him move. “Look, if I die by your bulge fuckin’ chokin’ me, I demand an equivalent death-inducing sexual favor of my choosing when I get resurrected.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you say. “You have gills, Eridan.”

Jade moves the table out of the way with her necromancy, and you sit next to her with your thighs spread apart so Eridan can get between them. He shoves his glasses to the top of his head, kneels, licks his bottom lip, and undoes your fly. Your bulge releases from its cage like a lich getting necromanced from a thousand year old tomb.

He sucks off your bulge like he would a normal, non freaky piece of troll genitalia, which means not a lot of moving and a lot of gentile tongue motions and swallowing. Which isn’t particularly fun to watch, for you or Jade, so Jade reaches down to wrap her hand around one of his perfectly graspable horns and guide his head into more fun positions. Which mostly means your bulge fucking missing his mouth and sliding all over his face. 

You're, uh, wetter than normal, your bulge probably way too eager to give into your desires to fill every fleshy thing up with your genetic material. All three of you let it get all sloppy, let your red splatter across his cheeks and drip down the sides of his mouth. Who’s the fucking pheremone king now, assholes? It’s you.

As entertaining as it is, you don’t forget about Jade. You kiss her, open mouthed, and taste Eridan’s pheremones on her which piss you off so you take her hair in your hand and pull back, so her throat is forced towards you. You leave a mark on her pointedly over the same place Eridan left one, fuck him. She makes a wonderful noise when you do so.

“Aw, hey, c’mon,” says Eridan, your bulge pressed firmly against the side of his face, laying a trail of red all along his fin. “Pay attention to _me_.”

“Alright, fuckface, you asked for it.” You wrench control away from Jade and grab his horn. 

“Make a tight fist with your thumb inside of it!” Jade hollers at him. “That always helps for me!”

Eridan sneers at her. “What the fuck does that-”

You hook your fingers against the bottom of his mouth so he’s unable to bite down, bearing the slight pain from the prick of his teeth. You’re not a complete asshole, you kind of fold your bulge over so it’s not as long, but you do shove his entire fucking mouth over it. It’s only fair, he did the same thing to you.

He gags with your bulge all the way in, his body heaving. And you get ready to pull him off you because while you might be maybe a little bit into choking him, you’re not into making him get sick. But he shuts his eyes, his gills flare into action, and he settles into his sucking/swallowing rhythm. You can’t fully appreciate the cool temperature of his mouth, but you can feel it on your fingers fishhooked on his lips and in the static-like, tense feeling at the very base of you. He doesn’t beg for air or anything, just accepts his blowjob-regulated fate. You like getting deepthroated by someone with gills. What a great biological feature.

What really gets you off though is that next to you, Jade cannot resist touching herself. Almost like she’s not aware she’s doing it, she presses her hand between her legs and the thin fabric soaks through with purple, and, fuck, that makes your head light. 

You get hyper sensitive all over, from both the sensation of Eridan’s mouth over you and Jade goddamn pleasuring herself next to you, and when she says, “You two are so gorgeous,” you realize that you’ll probably spill it all way too early if you let this debacle continue. You let go of Eridan, who does not remove himself from you.

"Stop," you stutter. "I'll come."

He slowly draws himself back, letting your red drip down his chin. When your bulge is well out of the way, he makes a move to wipe all your pre-slurry onto the inside of his shirt.

“Don’t wipe it off,” you stammer, and then immediately regret it. Eridan grimaces at you.

"Well daaaamn," Eridan whines, in a really over exaggerated voice. He rolls his eyes. "Then how am I ever gonna get all of Kar’s slurry off me?"

"I, brave slut captain of the twelve slutty seas, will come to your rescue," says Jade, with this stunner of a grin plastered on her face.

She leans down to him, over your lap. This is it, the complete and utter moral degradation of your soul. You're in some kind of horrendous onstage fetish play, one of the ones in backwoods Alternian subculture where they do tricks with tennis balls. You just know that in ten seconds this is probably going to devolve into vore or something and you're at that point of arousal where you don't even care. Anything said or done in the vicinity of you at this point is going to be the hottest thing you've ever heard or seen, no matter what fuck it ends up being.

Jade licks your pre-cum off his face. Like, his whole fucking face. You just about orgasm right then and there.

You try to say something but all that comes out is a gasp. Your spine curves and you tense, the warm, slow wave of orgasm oozing up your body from some origin point you can't feel.

"Ugh, seriously?" says Eridan. "C'mon, Kar', nobody's even touchin’ you."

You're fucking edged into oblivion by his dumb comments, and you manage to pull yourself together so you can flip him off with both hands. Jade finds this extremely entertaining as Eridan wipes the variety of fluids left on his face onto his shirt. It leaves a red stain on it you try not to think about. You take a few deep breaths and the feeling of being close to breaking point fades away.

"You can't come now," Jade insists. "We haven't gotten into a contrived threesome position yet. That's my favorite part. What do you guys want to do?"

You're too thoroughly fucked to think of anything off the top of your head, and Eridan apparently never considered the possibility of ever fucking two people at once because he's got no ideas. He rests his elbow on your thigh to prop his head up as Jade tries to suggest some.

"Ummmm, I could get on my knees and suck the both of you off?"

"Hell yeah, that's hot," says Eridan.

"No," you say, imagining Eridan's slurry dripping down Jade's face.

“Uhhh, okay. You _both_ could get on your knees and suck _me_ off!” she says, grinning.

You and Eridan try and think of the position you would have to be in to do that. “How could that even work?” asks Eridan, really wracking his brain. “I can eat you out by my lonesome. I’m good at it, I got gills.”

“Hell no,” you say, quickly. Something about that kind of EriJade interaction would really bother you. Probably because oral wouldn’t be an elaborate tapdance to erotically-troll you, and would instead be a legitimate attempt on Eridan’s part solely to make Jade feel good. Or boost his own ego. Neither of which you can really deal with.

Jade makes a thinking pose, then gasps, eyes widening.

"Guys," whispers Jade, like she's going to tell you the best secret of her life. She's basically shaking with excitement. "Guys, listen. You have to combine your powers and fuck me, like- like this-" She hooks her fingers together, demonstrating how the both of you would entwine your two bulges together.

Fucking her while fucking Eridan. Not only is that some unheard level of fuckception, that's... a lot to fit. It's a tight squeeze for you normally, no matter what Jade says about her 'wide, childbearing hips' or whatever. "There's no way that won't hurt you," you say.

Eridan raises his hand. "Forget that, there's no way that won't hurt _me,_ and not in a sexy way."

You always forget most trolls can't do penetrative sex. You're just "special," with heavy quotes.

Jade actually gets off the couch and drops to her knees and clasps her hands together, begging. "No, it'll work, it won't hurt me, I promise! And Karkat, you just have to wrap around the outside of Eridan, right? Like a cozy protective casing against my POWERFUL WALLS." She yells that last part, then laughs at herself. You and Eridan do not get it. "Um, anyway, please? Please please please?"

Neither you or Eridan are convinced. Eridan makes one of those groaning 'do I have to?' noises. Jade just clasps her hands together all the harder.

"I wanna be stuffed full of your bulges," she says in what you think is supposed to be a sultry bedroom voice. "I wanna feel like I'm getting torn apart!"

That just sounds painful. "Jade I'm worried for you," you say.

She facepalms. She thinks for a moment, then a wicked grin spreads across her face. She clasps her hands together again and her lower lip trembles and she says with a remarkably stupid fake-earnest voice, "Pleeeaasee? I want you both to come inside me so bad. I wanna be filled up just like a bucket. I wanna be a slurry dumpster. I wanna be _bred._ "

What the fuck, Jade. You make a startled noise like you’re about to be crushed by a falling piano. That's the worst thing you've ever heard, but you can't bring yourself to say it. Some visceral, proto-troll, evolutionarily fucked part of you enjoys that way too much. Yeah, knock her back on the bed and fuck her with both your colors, watch that genetically optimal mix of sex fluids flow out of her. Your face flushes like a perigree’s eve tree. Eridan reaches out to touch Jade’s jawline, tilts her head to look at him.

"Well, when you bait it like that," he purrs. "That just makes the fishin' hook enticin'."

Jade’s grin expands to previously unseen lengths. You swat Eridan’s hand away from her. "Fine," you say. "But I don't want either of you to come crying to me when my bulge is just too hot to handle."

Jade laughs at you, the nerve.

You spend way too long trying to figure out a position and a place you can all fit together in. What you settle on looks like some kind of erotic three layer cake. Eridan lays back on the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his feet against the ground. Jade lays on top of him, her petticoat pushed up to her waist, her back against his chest, and rests her head against his so they're cheek to cheek. Your plan is to straddle and kneel above the both of them, but you need to put your leg back on in order to have a knee to do so. You sit on the floor next to the bed, near their spread eagled legs, and try to hurriedly strap on your prosthetic. It's hard when you're getting subjected to the most pornographic view of anything in all recorded time. 

You guess you know what Eridan was doing to her earlier, now. Eridan’s bulge is currently trying to worm its way inside her. He doesn't have the musculature to do it, but Jade doesn't seem to mind. His bulge is on autopilot, pushing itself against her labia and up against where she's most sensitive, smearing his horrendous purple pre-slurry against what what you think is a very pretty part of her, and- hnngh. You're turned on as fuck, you are turned on in every way possible, you are extending into the fifth fucking dimension of turned on.

You can't see her face, but Jade’s body is tight and trembling, her spine curved against Eridan’s chest. She's making _noises_. You grimace in disgust. Your bulge does the opposite of that.

"You really do like that, huh?" he says.

"Nnngh, it's cold," she moans.

You slap the socket of your leg together with the ferocity of a warrior in battle, then spring to your feet. "Alright, fuck you guys," you say, glaring at them. They stare at you innocently, or as innocent as one can look when getting one’s erogenous zones rubbed. You point at the both of them in turn just so they know you're irritated. "Fuck you, fuck you. Literally. *You're* going to be fucked so hard you'll be begging for me to release your bulge only thirty seconds in, and *you're* going to be penetrated so throughly you won't be able to walk for two days."

Eridan gives you a mildly uncomfortable look, eyes pointed direct at your bulge being over-erect and thrashing around outside of your control. Jade pats her thighs and grins at you. "Prove it!"

You take a few deep breaths to pull yourself together, then straddle the both of them against the bedframe, straight on your knees so you can look down at the mess of genitalia happening beneath you. Sure paints one hell of a picture. A weird picture. Jade is dripping with transparent purple and you try hard not to think about it or you might just lose it.

You manage to cool yourself down enough that you regain control of your own bulge, and you lower yourself on top of Jade enough that you can reach everybody's respective sexes. You reach underneath you and grab Eridan’s, which makes him moan, and wind your bulge around his own. You have to kind of tuck your head to your chest to look upside down to make sure you're doing this right. You feel fucking ridiculous, which helps fend off the real and violent threat of premature ejaculation.

You get everyone into position. You’re pretty sure this is in the top ten of Skalligre’s most bizzare fuckenings. You make sure Jade is ready before curving your bulges and guiding the tips inside her with your hand. She opens for you both easy as anything, pleasant and warm.

She’s fine for about… maybe three inches, and then you get some resistance. She makes a slew of noises that can best be described as random letters scrawled out on a piece of parchment. You open your mouth to ask if she’s alright, but Eridan jumps the gun and does it first. That bastard.

“You okay, there?” he asks, and he’s breathy, the hand around your upper arm shaking.

“Yes. Yes!” she almost screams, digging her nails into your back. “Oh my gosh, fill me up, this feels so good you guys, stretch me more, please!”

You really don’t understand Jade’s size kink thing she’s got going on, but at this point anything she says is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. Hell yeah, you’ll stretch her out. You’re the goddamn master of stretching.

You go slow, pushing in further, and further, and past the point where you think she can take it. She’s spasming by the time you’re nearly in, crossing her legs behind yours and shivering like she’s been getting edged for a half hour. Eridan kisses her neck, the sides of her jaw, and it doesn’t bother you at this point. You just like seeing her come apart.

Jade literally just fucking orgasms as soon as you’re in. No external stimulation, no nothing, just loses it completely. Her muscles clamp down around you, and even you can feel it, tight around your bulge. Eridan winces through her orgasm, digging his claws into your arm.

You let her recover, as she pants, nearly laughing. “Everybody alright?” she gasps out.

“I should be asking you that,” you say, forcing out the words through your haze of arousal.

“Yes, yes, fine, thanks for asking,” says Eridan, through gritted teeth. “Really would like it if you didn’t do that again with my sweet, sensitive bulge in there next time.”

“Oh?” she breathes out. “Do you not want to keep going?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I can deal with a little of this if it means fillin’ my wife up like a goddamn pail.”

You can feel your bulge fucking pulse inside her, and you make this horrendously embarrassing noise. Eridan laughs at you. “Knew that’d get you, Kar’.”

Jade smiles up at you and paps your face. “Spill allllll your slurry into me, please!”

“You’re both fucking disgusting,” you hiss, but your bulge is already moving on its own, entwining and pressing against Eridan’s as much as it can in such a tight space. Jade starts shivering again, Eridan bites his lip, you try to stay focused. “This will all be way less hot when we have to clean it up in… I- nngh- shortly.”

“Stop killin’ the mood.”

"No we wont have to… I know a spell for come inflation," Jade whispers. Then, excitedly, "I know a spell for come inflation!"

"Jade, no," you say.

"Jade, yes," say Jade and Eridan.

They high five each other. Eridan looks hyped.

You lean down and close the distance between all of you so they’ll shut the fuck up and stop talking about their bad ideas. You kiss them both, too high on endorphins to give a fuck about who you’re kissing, or why, and there’s no biting or growling, just gentle, sloppy makeouts. You’ll probably regret this breach of quadranting when your bulge currently isn’t knotting with another bulge inside a wonderfully tight space, but for right now it’s fucking awesome. You sort of get lost in the moment, in the dark with your eyes closed, with their hands on you, every inch of your body with working nerves prickling with pleasure.

You have to lean back away from them to adjust your posture, and they start kissing each other in your absence. And it… literally doesn’t bother you at all. You barely even think about it. Eridan slides the neckline of her top down and hooks it under her breasts, exposing her, then toys with them, pinching in places you know she likes.

Jade gasps, first out of pleasure, then out of excitement. "Eridan, you know how boobs work!"

I'm popular in human ports," he says, smug.

You want to say 'yeah, because you’re paying them,' but it comes out as "Ye-- ah-" insert awkward gasping here. Okay you have no idea how these two assholes can talk, you're getting very shaky. You're pumped full of every hormone known to mere mortals.

“You close, Kar’?” asks Eridan. He reaches up to brush your hair back behind your ear, which is far too loving and not trollish and all and hits every cross quadrant trigger you have in the book. You shudder under his touch.

"I could come," you suggest, from some dreamy place.

Eridan pulls you down to him by the horns. He puts his mouth near your ear, you feel his lips move against you when he murmurs, "I love your voice like that, Kar'. Really unlike you. Say somethin' else."

He tugs on your earring with a gentle bite, which from how sensitive your whole body is gets you throbbing all over. You feel like you're shaking apart as he runs his cold tongue over your earlobe. You're not sure how long it is before you manage to mutter, "Fuck you."

"Nice try, but you still sound like a sexy, smooth cup of coffee," he whispers.

"That’s a pretty good metaphor," Jade says. She moves her hands to your hips to push you in as far as she can take it, you make some probably deeply intimate noises as you're unwound to the core. "You should come for me, I want to be all filled up with you and Eridan."

It's super depraved, and probably will be hilarious in retrospect, but right now you think it's the hottest thing since fire. "Keep talking," you stutter.

Jade giggles. “C’mon, knock me up with your weird genetic material smoothie.”

That is the dumbest fucking line you’ve ever heard and you can’t believe it makes you come. Waves of orgasm trickle up your spine, your muscles turning to jelly as they hit. You can’t support yourself, you fall forward onto Jade and bury your face into her neck as you ride it out, as you spill everything you’ve got inside of her.

You pull Eridan along for the ride, feel a cool wave wash over your spasming bulge, listen to him gasp as you… gods, use your witch as a bucket. The thought makes you whimper as you give one more pathetic thrust into Jade, to make sure you’re inside her to the hilt.

You guess her spell worked, because as you come down from the high, as your bulge starts to lose some of its girth, there isn’t a single bit of it spilling back out. When you’re able to, you push yourself up on your arms and look down at the both of them.

Eridan has this expression on like he got into Gamzee’s old pie supply and ate _all of them_. Jade has her mouth twisted up like her stomach is upset. You feel like the definition of the term ‘afterglow,’ you feel like a fucking sunset. You want to curl up between both of them and give them some serious hugs.

You slide a hand through your hair, your forehead slick with sweat so it makes your bangs stay up there in a probably stupid-looking way. “Uh, are you okay?” you say, your voice all raspy and spent like it usually is after sex.

“This was… a bad idea.” Jade whines. “Guys, um, I’d like to stay here, but I really need to get up now. Really really need to get up.” 

Eridan starts laughing. And the only times you’ve seen him laugh have been these shitty, cynical bursts of ‘ha ha, stupid land dweller’ so this is a surprise. This laughter is a genuine, big happiness, the kind that doesn’t often happen in shitty palaces full of political intrigue.

“You two,” he laughs, having to wipe away a tear. “You two are fuckin’ _ridiculous._ ”

***********

You end up carrying her to the bathroom, where a truly indescribable scene happens once Jade releases the spell. You're pretty sure you get some minor form of PTSD. You can't tell if that scene will haunt your nightmares or sex dreams, and then you decide it's probably going to end up being a two for one combo: the rare "wetmare." 

You all vote on where you’re going to sleep, which you think is going to be a landslide win for the sopor, but Eridan surprisingly votes for the bed. He says the sheets cost more than a K-tier gunner ship, so you all should sleep in it, whatever that means. You’re in the middle, Jade laying over your left side and your right arm wrapped around Eridan. Jade turns the lights off with her magic, and you settle in to some ineffably comfortable sheets. 

And you realize, sort of belatedly, that you haven’t really been exhibiting very good kismesis behavior for like, an hour. You’re pretty sure you even kissed him goodnight.

“Wait, hold on,” you say, in the dark, to the ceiling. “That wasn’t really auspisticism at all. That was mostly just a threesome.”

Eridan pushes you on the shoulder, Jade hits your face with a pillow. You take the hint and shut up.

***********

They have to wake up early. Like, really early, before dawn early. And since both your body pillows decided to get up and leave, you don’t bother trying to fall back asleep. You sit on the bed and watch Jade and Eridan get into their less-complex, but still relatively fancy, 2nd day wedding clothes. Eridan’s got a Jade-green and black military uniform with that weird gemmed scimitar, while Jade has a surprisingly normal sized, fishtailed purple gown. A elegant choker and a couple necklaces cover the love bites you and Eridan left on her just perfectly.

They’re getting up early to sign the final navy transfer contract in some super-secret location you’re not invited to, and frankly, don’t really want to be invited to. You could not imagine anything more boring than having to go over legal forms at four AM in a locked office room.

Because Jade isn’t a high maintenance prick, she finishes getting ready well ahead of Eridan, and decides to fuck off to wherever she’s supposed to be. She kisses you goodbye, there’s some “See you soon”s, and she teleports away in a crackle of green. 

You start getting on your walk-of-shame outfit from yesterday, black jacket and gray pants and black skirt, chatting to Eridan while you button your shirt up. Eridan sits at the vanity and plugs in some piercings, while you face the opposite wall. You don’t really want to watch him thread something through his nose.

“So you had fun right?” you ask, for the fifth time. “I know it wasn’t part of the standard quadrant repertoire, but not everything has to be about the quadrants. Maybe. Sometimes you can pail casually? For fun, I guess?”

Relax Kar’, I liked it. I like you guys. Even though you’ve got such a stick up your ass,” says Eridan. You hear him shuffle around a bit. You think he stands up.

“I should probably ask where we stand on this,” you say, buttoning up your collar. Your heart is all fluttery, happy, post-sex relationship talks never tire you out. “Are we in a qua-”

Something stops you mid-sentence.

Eridan’s behind you all of a sudden. He hooks his arm, gently, lovingly, under yours, as though to hold you up. You stare dumbly at the wall for a couple seconds, blinking, wondering what's wrong. It takes a little while for the pain to set in. He twists the sword.

Your head flops down as you crumple, unable to stand, and you see the full blade of Eridan’s scimitar sticking out of your chest, buried to the hilt. And looking at it, seeing your blood and some other interesting chunks smeared across the silver, that's when your body catches up to what's happening and the pain kicks in.

This is definitely going to kill you.

"Oh fuck," you say, because you will never, ever, ever ever ever get used to this. You cannot imagine why the hell Eridan would do this, you thought you and him had... a thing. "Eridan- what, what the hell are you doing? I thought we- I thought- Gods, if stabbing me in the back is some- some freaky-" You wheeze, your knee buckles, Eridan holds you up by awkwardly groping your armpit. "-fetish you get off on, I swear, the moment I'm back in action, I'm lopping off your head. And before you get your hopes up, you sick fuck, there will be a zero percent chance of skullfucking!"

"Nah, not into corpses. Gotta admit though, there's somethin' kinda appealing about that moment right before you die. You get all vulnerable and soft and, yeah," he leans forward to kiss you on the edge of the mouth. You're unable to really resist him. It's fucking disgusting. You try to make semi-fake retching noises, but when your chest raises the blade cuts further into your muscles and organs and tissue and oh gods you hope this goes quickly. "But if I wanted that outta you, Kar', I'd be drawing this shit out. Like stabbing you in the chest in a non-lethal area while you're on a pile with your psiionic matesprit, you know?"

"No, please don't tell me about it," you wheeze out. Eridan, without warning, yanks the blade out of you. Stars burst over your eyes as the blood drains from your brain and your nerves go haywire with all that hot white pain. He steps away from you, and you fall back onto the floor, knocking the back of your head hard. Your vision is nearly out, your heart is pumping probably 2,000 times a second. You see his shadow loom over you.

"Don't-" you choke out. Your own voice is so quiet against all the blood pounding noises in your ears. "Don't touch me."

He shrugs at you. "It’s nothin’ personal, Kar', I’m not in it for me. Four lovely ladies asked me to kill ya and hey, what can I say, I'm a slave to contrived power grabs."

An assassination. Fuck, is he going to destroy your body? Is this the end? You jump to the only conclusion there is.

"Condesce," you manage to say. "Traitor."

"Traitor, yes. But for Condy?" Your vision goes out completely, your heart slows, breathing is hard and difficult and death becomes less of a fear and more of a welcoming presence. Eridan’s voice is a struggle to concentrate on, it's like it's coming from outside a long tunnel. "If I got bought out by her then that wouldn't make me a traitor, would it? It'd make me a loyalist. But I'm no fuckin’' loyalist, Kar'. I'm a patriot. Down to my bones."

Your heart is about a flat line, slow, you're so tired. It's so hard to care now, but some small, forgotten process of your brain is still in mid-panic attack, demanding answers. You manage one last word. "Who?"

“I was gonna give you to Meenah, but she rescinded her offer for some reason,” he says. “So that leaves Vris’ and Fef’.”

Vriska you're not even surprised about, you have no fucking clue why she'd want to kill you after going through all that trouble to resurrect you, but you're still not surprised. But Feferi? No, he must have it wrong, Feferi was trying to protect you...

The pain dips away. You can't seem to care anymore. You spasm, just once, like your body is trying to kick itself awake before a long sleep. Something warm and wet flows from the corners of your mouth, but it's not _really_ happening to you. You're halfway out the door.

"Although I don't know why they asked for you on a silver platter separately, I mean, they've got the same-"

You pass away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *airhorn noises* IT BEGINS.
> 
> Hope you're ready to whip through these last few chapters!
> 
> It was just going to be one giant chapter and then an epilogue, but because I'm an asshole and like cliffhangers, I'm splitting the "pandimensional chess" chapter up into five much shorter chapters. Sorry past-me, the chapter count slowly keeps increasing...


	17. Pandimensional Chess: Strategem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **FOR NEW READERS:** Honestly I'm not sure how to explain this one, you should just read [Chapter 36 of Cum mortuis in lingua mortua](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1786246/chapters/6803621).

Instead of waking up to Jade, or a death priestess, or hell, even the Death gods themselves, you wake up to something unfathomably worse.

You… think you’re in some sort of basement. You’re sitting at the end of a long dark stone hallway with a lot of rooms branching off it, and you see Vriska’s breath fog up which means it’s cold and you can’t feel the temperature at all and, god, fuck, you’re still fucking dead, aren’t you. You hate everything right now.

"Riiiiiiiise and shine buckaroo!" says Vriska. "I've got some work for you to do."

You immediately try to push her away. She jerks her hand up, blue light skitters across your body, and your arms snap to your sides like rubber bands.

"Not so fast, you're still dead, you know!" she laughs. "And under my control! How's it feel to be at the whims of someone soooooooo much better than you? Great? Peachy!?"

"You know damn well how it feels," you say. "I have no idea what you and your filthy highblooded friends are up to, but once Jade gets wind of what it is... fuck it, if _John_ gets wind you're making me a fun little chew toy, you'll be sinking straight to the bottom of the lake head-first."

John pops his head out from around the corner. He’s wearing this extremely ostentatious crown, it’s like his usual laurel wreath around his ears and the back of his head, but this time it’s nearly pure white. There’s a band that crosses over his forehead, underneath his hair, which almost seems to merge into his skin.

"Karkat! You’re awake!" He runs and skids over to you, then slide-kneels in front of you and clasps his hands, a big goopy frown on his face. He looks eerily similar to Jade begging you last night to double penetrate her, which is one hell of an unfortunate comparison. "I am so, so sorry we had to kill you, Karkat, I am the hugest jerk on the face of jerk planet. Like, if there's anything I can give you or anything I can do, anything at all, please, I promise I'll do whatever I can to try and make this up to you. We just, we _have_ to do this. You're the last piece of the puzzle. I'm really sorry."

You have no idea what you're feeling. Part of you is dead emotionally because you've got no heart to beat and no headaches to acquire, another part wants to pull off a daring and improbable escape so you can hightail it out of here with Jade in tow, and the final part of you is questioning reality since John 'innocent moron' Egbert has the appearance of taking part in an evil conspiracy. With at least two trolls that you hate.

"Okay, would you tell me what the fuck is going on, please?" you shout. "I think I'm owed at least that."

"Sure," says John. "We're pulling a coup."

You blink at him. “On your mother?"

“Oh, jeez, no, absolutely not, I don’t want to be the Patrician, and I especially don’t want to kill Mom,” says John, standing up and scoffing at you, like you were rude to ask the question. “We’re pulling a coup on the _Condesce._ Feferi’s here too.” He turns to yell down the hallway. “Hey Feferi! Karkat’s awake!”

These fucking _morons_. They can’t pull a fucking coup. Sure, they’ve got more resources than Meenah, and at least Feferi is known to the public so it wouldn’t be totally unexpected, but good fucking Lords, she can’t rule. She has no political experience at all. No one who matters even remotely respects her. Also, did they forget the small little fact that the Condescension is an ancient hulking beast who can probably kill all of you assholes with a snap of her fingers?

Your mouth twitches, you have a hard time expressing how fucking dumb this idea is. You realize this is a lost cause, since you’re sitting here as some kind of tool in their plan, which means it’s already kicked into action, but you have to try. “You can’t pull a goddamn coup! You’re just… Goddesses, we’re all just kids compared to that thousand year old monstrosity. You’re going to crash and burn hard. The Condesce is going to slaughter everyone involved, and I do not give one flying fuck that you’re the son of the Patrician.”

“Ah, yeah,” says John, scratching the back of his head. “Well, that’s where you come in, Karkat. You’re kind of our secret weapon.”

Feferi comes down the hallway. She’s wearing something similar to what the Condesce wears, a tight black bodysuit with armor, meant for battle, but she’s got a multicolored skirt on in order to distinguish herself. She has her trident strapped to her back, and is carrying a potted plant. She looks fucking _pissed_ , and you think you know the reason why. Eridan gave you to Vriska, instead of her. And you understand why he was confused, the two of them appear to be working together, so it shouldn’t have mattered who he dumped you off on.

Feferi stands next to John and sighs. “Okay, give it a try,” she says, monotone. 

Vriska steps to the side of you, and lifts her arms. Blue sparks dance along your own arm, and you’re mimicking the motion, your hand spreading out towards the plant. You can’t possibly hope to resist her necromancy; every muscle, every nerve, every bone is under her control as she wills it. It just feels like your body wants to do it, like the action came from your own brain.

You get this tingling sense in your palm, which is odd because you usually can’t pick up on those subtle things when you’re dead, and you sort of… _feel_ the plant. Like its structure, its roots, its atomic makeup and DNA. Vriska clenches your fist, and you feel the life of the plant, every cell, every process, snuff out like a candle. The plant disintegrates into dust. There’s gasps from the audience.

And with a horror you haven’t felt since the day Jade took down Aranea in your body, you know why they needed you for this coup. Because you, Karkat Vantas, one of the only two charges of The Secret God birthed in the past millennium, have the ability to control the living. You just never got taught how to use it. But as you learned from Jade a year ago, a necromancer knows how— it’s the same school of anti-magic. 

You’re going to be the knife in the Condesce’s back.

"Wait, who told you I could in _theory_ be a biomancer?" you say. The only people in the room when you demonstrated the one cool thing about your blood color were Jade, Aranea, and Kankri’s corpse. You weren't even in the fucking room, you were a brain-dead vegetable. "Was it Arenea? That bitch."

"It was Jade, actually," says John. "I mean, she's not in on the coup, she just told us about the stuff you could do with someone necromancing you, about a year ago. So here we are."

“And here I am,” says Vriska, her voice full of awe. “And with these hands, you might not be so useless after all. I’ll vaporize the Condesce in a hot second.”

Feferi is staring at the small pile of ash where the plant was, impressed. “Sorry about this, Karkat, I reely wanted Kankri instead, but nope! Somebody just _had_ to ask questions!”

John sighs, trying to hide how impressed he is that you can apparently explode any living thing in the immediate vicinity. “And I should have told you, but _some people_ -” He points at Feferi and Vriska accusingly. “-thought we should keep dumb secrets!”

“Oh come on, he totally would have blabbed,” says Vriska, elbowing you in the shoulder.

You’re not as pissed off as you would have been if you were alive. You don’t feel the physical aspects of the anger, instead, your brain is just wracked with something like severe disappointment. So you can’t be loud, or show how mad you are, when you say, “So I don’t have a choice? You’re using me as a glorified battle axe to kill the Condesce?”

All three of them are quiet. John’s the one who puts on his serious royal ‘I have to make hard decisions sometimes’ face, and says, “Yeah, buddy. I’m so sorry. Anything you want from me in return, to make this up to you, I’ll do it. I promise.”

You consider asking John to let your soul go so your subconscious can go hang out in the eternal waiting room of dark until they're done using your empty corpse, but then again… You're worried about Jade. And even though these fucks don't deserve it, you're still worried about Feferi and John and Eridan and even Mindfang (Vriska can go fuck herself). Even if you're totally useless and being used as a doll, you still have a voice, and that voice might come in handy at one point.

Still, going to hide in the timeless dark until the whole ordeal is over is a pretty tempting option. Gods, you don't want to feel yourself perma-kill the Condesce. Or even worse, you don't want to feel yourself getting so torn up by the Condesce you’re no longer resurrectable. You hate that you love your friends so much. Even when they're fucking assholes.

Something you want from him pops into your head, and before you have time to process it, you’re asking him. “I want you to authorize Jade and I’s knight/witch binding. If the Patrician doesn’t come through on her promise to Jade, you’re going to have to fudge the documents. I don’t care what it takes.”

Dammit, you shouldn’t have requested _anything_ , now John’s going to think you forgive him.

“Done, absolutely. I’ll do whatever it takes,” says John, looking more relaxed now that you asked him for something. “And anything else you want, just let me know, seriously.”

You glare at Feferi, who you notice isn’t groveling for your forgiveness. Feferi laughs at you when she sees your grimace. “I’m not stupid enough to promise things I might not be able to pay back!” She smiles then, every single needle sharp tooth laid out for display. “But what I can promise is that you’re dolphinitely going to be welcomed in Alternia again if we pull this off. With honors, with titles, or just as you are. And you’ll never have to hide your leg again, I’ll make shore of it. Isn’t that a cause worth dying for, Karkat?”

Depends on the death. You don’t miss Alternia all that much. But you think of the trolls who escaped after a severe injury, like Terezi, or grubs who never get a chance and… maybe it is a cause worth dying for. Too bad that cause is in the hands of a mini-empress so green behind the fins. 

“I dunno, I’m starting to like those skirts,” you spit back, not ready to stop being mad at them. John frowns, actually taking you seriously for once, but Feferi just gives you a bubbly giggle. 

Vriska steps in front of you, cracking her knuckles. She is by far the most excited out of the three. “Blah blah, who cares about any of that! What really matters is the plan, which we’re going to go over right now! For your benefit!”

She makes you stand up, but she can’t make you follow her: she doesn’t know how to make you walk, not with your prosthetic. You think about being an asshole and staying put, but John and Feferi start walking down the hallway and, fuck, you just can’t abandon them.

You do appear to be in some kind of cellar when Feferi pushes open the trap door at the end and you’re greeted by a facefull of still-dark, early morning blizzard. You’re just the littlest bit thankful that you’re dead right now, this would suck ass without a coat. You all step outside, into the snow. You can’t see shit.

Feferi turns to you and starts yelling at you, over the howling wind. “Eridan, Jade, the Condesce, the Patrician, and two officiators are signing over the very core of the Alternian navy, inside an impenetrable, magic-proofed mountain cave. This is one of the few times that the Condesce isn’t surrounded by a bunch of her seapporters, and has been our first chance in sweeps where she’s dolphinitely alone. The pathway to the mountain is lined with the betta parts of the Condesce’s guard, at least a hundred of ‘em. If we went direct through that path to get to the Condesce, we’d trip every alarm the Empire’s got, and we’d die for sure!”

John casts some kind of spell, and all the air around you goes still, the blizzard swirling a safe distance away from you. Vriska slams her fist into her open hand, and her whole body crackles with her blue power. “So we’re not going direct! We’re ghosting right through the mountain!”

Up out of the snow-covered ground, Mindfang’s black, rotting ship rises like batch of will-o’-wisps. The ship’s all in pieces, no doubt due to John and Vriska’s handiwork, but Vriska throws her hands up and they orbit and reassemble above you in a glowing cacophony of necromancy. Vriska’s hands tense, and the ship turns solid, no longer ethereal. It hovers, yards above you, shielding you from the snow with its massive body.

Mindfang’s skull on Vriska’s new hat flickers to life, her jaw drops open, and her quiet undead voice says, “Took centuries to build with imbued necromancy, my loves.”

Vriska shakes her arms out, smiling up at the ship like she’s the proud parent of it. “Anyway, the plan is to sail in on the ship, and I use these hands-” she shows you those hands. “-to control you and blow up the Condesce before anybody even realizes what’s going on. No cool battle, no wicked awesome speech, we just zap in and out. Can’t risk anything else. Well, I mean, _I_ could risk it, but these two are way weaker than me, every second the Condesce has to strike back makes everything that much more dangerous! So even though I think it’d be way cooler if this was some kind of awesome boss battle, instead it’ll be quick and simple. Thanks to me! And you, I guess.”

You fold your arms. You think it’s a good plan… if everything ever in the history of time ever went according to plan. “There’s no way in hell it’s going to be that easy.”

“We’ll play it by ear,” says John, before flying up to the glowing ghost ship and tossing a rope ladder over the side. He yells down, “The officiators are on our side, Jane managed to get Mary and Isfile. And I’m sure my mom will help out too if things go bad, she hates the Condesce!”

You all climb up the ladder. You also agree that the Patrician would help out with the coup, but not because she hates the Condesce. She’d probably only help out because there’d be a fresh new Empress of Alternia to exploit. Gods, Feferi is not ready for this.

You start feeling something like nervousness, but without the stomach churning or tight muscles. There’s just this horrible pit of worry in your brain, and it’s growing bigger and bigger. It’s less directed towards the actual act of the coup, and more towards the aftermath of it, when Feferi assumes the throne. She’s too young for this, she’s not going to last in brutal Alternia, with a brutal Patrician as her neighbor, there’s no way.

Vriska and John get to work setting up the ship and the sails when you’re up on the deck, while Feferi hangs back with you. She stands close to you, and looks up at you with some extremely serious eyes.

“I’m glad Meenah didn’t cull you and get you for herself. But… glub, I wish it wasn’t Vriska. I wanted Jade to do this for us, for you,” she says. “I wanted her to be in on the plan. It shore doesn’t seem right that Vriska’s controlling you.”

Vriska runs by, holding the rope for the sails, her necromancy flickering along it. “Gods, Feferi, I told you eight million times, the Condesce can control Jade! Things could get sticky if shit hits the fan and there’s a three way chain of Condesce-Jade-Karkat, and that’s not a gamble I feel there’s good odds on!”

You guess that was why Feferi and Vriska asked Eridan for you separately. You… kind of agree with Eridan’s choice on this, from a purely logical, cold-hearted standpoint. As much as you’d love to be handled by your witch instead of Ms. Bluefaced Wildcard, the Condesce could use Jade (and therefore you) for nefarious purposes. 

Speaking of Jade, as far as you can tell, she has no fucking idea this coup is getting pulled yet, so it’s going to be a horrendous shocker for her. Unless Eridan told her, and you doubt it.

Vriska starts climbing the ladder to the crows nest. Once she’s outside of a listening distance, Feferi speaks up again.

“< _Actually, I wanted Jade to control you because I don’t trust Vriska,_ > she whispers. “< _Sea if you can find out anyfin, I swear she’s up to somefin’._ >”

You don’t reply, you just give a half-hearted nod. Sure, you still care, but even if Vriska’s up to ‘somefin’ (which there’s no fucking way she isn’t), it cannot be as big as the horrifying political environment this coup is going to cause. Vriska just seems like a minor worry.

John finishes whatever he needed to do, and floats down to sit on the railing, next to you and Feferi. He adjusts his ostentatious crown, and gods, you hate yourself for asking.

“What’s with the ridiculous headgear?”

“This is the Crown of Spiritual Pop-a-matic Zillyhoo binding. Um-” John pulls a card from behind his ear and reads off it. “This item summons an ethereal, ghostly hammer, soul-bound to the wearer. It does 8d20 + 40 magic damage per hit, and-”

“What do those numbers mean?” Feferi asks.

“Oh, there’s like, these glowing white dice at the top of this hammer thing, and they roll for how powerful my strikes are.”

Vriska swings down from the crow’s nest by a rope and hops over to the three of you. “And they always come up nat 20s, because I’m with you, and I’m the luckiest!”

“The luckiest!” John echos, chuckling to himself at some private joke. He continues reading off the card. “Soul binding lasts for three seconds, can be used once per day, and can be dismissed by the bearer any point beforehand.”

You frown at him. “What good is a hammer if you can only summon it for three seconds?”

John looks at you like you’re a dumbass asking a rhetorical question. “What do you mean? That’s more than enough time.”

You get the vaguest sense that John is fucking terrifying for anyone who isn’t a magic-immune asshole.

Before you ‘set sail,’ as it were, Vriska pulls you into captain’s cabin to discuss “battle tactics” with you. You don’t really have a choice, so you sit on Mindfang’s heavy wooden desk as Vriska paces back and forth in front of you. You watch her breath fog in the dark in little white tufts of anger.

“Okay, I know this is the dumbest coup imaginable, and I know _you_ know this is the dumbest coup imaginable, and Mindfang knows this is the dumbest coup imaginable,” says Vriska, biting her knuckle as she walks in a figure eight around the cabin. Mindfang makes a bone-cracking noise of agreement. “But not because we’re not going to pull off, oh no, we’re totally going to pull it off. We’re perma-killing the Condesce, I’m making sure of that. It’s the aftermath that’s dumb.”

You let Vriska talk. You agree with her for once, she managed to hit the nail on the metaphorical head. You couldn’t have yelled it better yourself.

“Feferi _cannot_ rule, and I thought about joining forces with the other one, but… Meenah’s even worse! At least Feferi knows the academic stuff!” Vriska pulls at her own hair, like a fucking psycho. “This whole plan was thrown together in three friggin’ days, and only because Meenah appeared out of nowhere and the Condesce started getting actively malicious towards Miss Pampered Princess since there’s another heir! I get that she had to do _something_ , hell, I even respect it! But this is, ughhhh- Shit’s going to get real! The realest!”

She spins around, faces the stairs, and makes the kind of back breaking pose you sometimes make when you’re having a tantrum. “Oh boy, is there going to be some civil war happening! High bloods against low bloods! Trolls defecting every which way! And amidst all that chaos, we’ve got a Patrician who’s had her eye on Alternia for like, decades! She’s going to invade, and nobody’s going to have their shit together, and it’s going to suuuuuuuuck!”

She clenches her fists. “But I can fix at least one part of that. One big part, the biggest part.” She turns to you then, marches up to you, and grabs your shoulders. She stares at you with wide, manic eyes. “So this is just an FYI so you don’t freak out later. You’re not just going to blow up the Condesce. You’re going to blow up the Patrician too.”

If you had a working heart, it would have skipped about six beats at this point. You want to kill John and Jade’s mother even less than you want to kill the Condesce, because the Patrician is more of a living, breathing person than the bizarre caricature the Condesce developed into. And good gods, what would John and Jade feel? Even though they might not have the strongest of relationships they’re still a fucking human family. And John doesn’t even want to be the Patrician! While you’d consider John far more prepared to take the throne than Feferi, you’d bet your other fucking leg that he’d want to do it naturally, once his mother retires. 

You can’t help yourself, you burst out with, “What the actual f-!”

Blue flickers across Vriska’s hand, and your mouth snaps shut and your tongue is still. You hate necromancy. Hate hate hate.

“I'm doing the right thing, okay?” hisses Vriska. “I'm not going to let my country get shit all over by some crazy human dictator!”

Vriska gives you the ability to whisper, which you take advantage of. Your voice comes out harsh and angry. “So you’d rather shit all over your own country yourself, then? Wearing John like a glove?”

“What are you implying there, Karkat?” She quirks an eyebrow and smiles. “Buuuuuuuut, in a purely, totally hypothetical scenario where I assume control of Earthen military that’s deeeeeeeefinitely not happening, I’d do a much better job at ruling Alternia then Feferi.”

She makes your mouth close, presses your lips tight together. “And before you get any ideas,” she says. “You’re not telling John about this. I’m making sure of it. Again, I only told you because I don’t want you to be freaked out you’re murdering John’s mom! So your lips are sealed, bucko.”

If you were alive, you’d probably be having some kind of attack right about now. But all that washes over you is this overwhelming sense of dread. There’s only one thought in your head: _you have to warn him._ There is no fucking way she can maintain an iron grip on you forever, right? Oh god, you hope not. 

You follow her up to the deck, trying to hide how fast you want to climb up the stairs and run to John. Feferi is sitting against the back of the rail, near the wheel, and John is standing in the dead center of the deck. He’s looking up at the sky, admiring his handiwork at keeping the dark blizzard well away from all of you. 

“< _Hey, Karkat,_ >” says John, waving at you. “< _Are you ready to take off?_ >”

You try to just blurt it out really quick, but you don’t even get the chance to open your mouth. Vriska’s blue sparks dance all over and you stay stick straight and still.

John sees Vriska messing with you and turns to her, a frown on his face. “Why aren’t you letting him talk?”

“He was totally throwing a tantrum about this whole thing downstairs,” says Vriska, shrugging. “It’d be best if he wasn’t screaming at everybody.” 

You’re going to kill her.

John actually takes her at her word, which is fucking unbelievable. There’s no way he can be that oblivious, can he? His shoulders sink, all defeated and sad, and he gives you a very tight hug. “< _I’m sorry, I really am._ >”

You believe he’s sorry, absolutely. Does this mean you’re not going to rub it in his face later and bring it up when you want him to do minor tasks for you? Of course not. Well, unless Vriska’s plan succeeds, you’re not sure you can get the fucking Patrician to fetch you a glass of water or whatever. Gods, fuck, don’t even think about that, you cannot even consider that as a possibility, you have to do whatever it takes to warn him at the next chance you get.

Vriska and John go to the helm of the ship and hold hands. You watch both their blues circle around them like tornadoes, combine and twist, and the ship rises as though it were pushing off a dock into the sea. The deck turns transparent, and with it, so do you. You look at your hands, not feeling any different, but your clothes and palms have the opacity of a ghost. Feferi and John and Vriska have something else happen to them: they’re glowing Mindfang-blue, their outlines fuzzy with magic.

The sails burst out with wind. The ship creaks as it steers right, dips up as though it were going over a great wave, the wheel spinning wild as though someone were at the till. It hesitates, bobbing in the air, then lurches forward, picking up speed as it flies through the night. It soars through the blizzard, whipping your hair around your face and pushing flakes of snow through your ethereal body.

We have… lifdoff.


	18. Pandimensional Chess: The Play

From a totally logical perspective, you should be cool with sailing through a giant rock, being ethereal on an ethereal ship with ethereal passengers. The shadow of the mountain looms up ahead in the dark, and you’re getting awfully close to it, but it’s fine, right? Not like you can die again. 

But you’re a creature of emotions, so you scream the whole fucking time.

Phasing through something solid feels like you’re melting and reforming, over and over, a thousand times in the span of a second. Your molecules shift all around to make room for the mountain's molecules, like they’re throwing an overcrowded party. Everything is pitch black for a few seconds, then the ship emerges into the cavern.

It’s pretty much just an average cave, brown and ugly and filled with stalactites. It’s not very big, maybe the size of a merchant's ballroom, but it’s tall. It’s tall enough for the ships masts to fit in, if they weren’t ghostly. You emerge on the left side of it, the bottom of the hull conveniently level with the floor of the cave. To your right is the presumable entrance that normal plebeians enter through, with big golden doors barred shut and locked with an incomprehensibly complicated gear-y device that spans the whole frame. To your left is where assuredly important military legal processes are taking place. Two officiators, one troll and one human, stand on opposite sides of a very long wooden desk, holding huge portfolios with various papers stuffed inside. Jade and Eridan stand on the side of the desk that has a nice view of the ship emerging, while the Condesce and the Patrician have their backs to you. When Jade sees an undead pirate ship burst through the wall like a giant parade float gone terribly wrong, her mouth curves into an open, frowny, half moon shape, and she draws her head back so she has like, six chins. Eridan reacts immediately, tackling her down to the floor.

Vriska makes the ship solid and modular again, so all the individual parts of the boat go flying in every fucking direction imaginable. John’s wind spell helpfully directs it all away from you. Boards and splinters tear off the ship, bounce off walls, hit the desk. The Condesce whirls around, catches an entire fucking mast that was going to hit her in the face, and crushes it between her massive hands. You and Feferi slide down the collapsing deck, and you take a leap off it into the dead center of the cave, your springy prosthetic absorbing a lot of the shock and your corpsey leg absorbing the rest of it. Feferi lands near the desk, to the left of it. Feferi immediately casts one of those safety-shield spells around herself: one of those impenetrable magic things that limit all your actions but make you immune to pretty much everything. Smart move, she’s probably the most vulnerable one here. It looks like a big pink bubble.

John drops off Vriska where you landed, dead center of the cave, facing the Patrician and the Condesce. The Condesce takes a terrifying step in your direction, kicking a bunch of boards out of the way, but Vriska’s ready. She’s standing in front of you, and she calls out to you, your biomancy. You mimic her arm movements, your fingers pulsing with life, and you grab hold of the Condesce: her heart, her veins, her blood and guts. You hear the pulse of her brain, how her thoughts shoot through her massive body like lightning. There’s a pulse in the mountain as everyone holds their breath and waits for the trigger to be pulled. It’s interrupted by a loud motherly sigh from the Patrician.

"< _Young man,_ >" says the Patrician, adjusting her glasses. "< _I am very disappointed in you._ >"

She phases white, leaving a repeated outline of her shadow in various shades of gray, then vanishes. 

There's a violent whoosh of wind behind you and Vriska. Vriska makes a startled noise, and she lets go of the Condesce due to the more immediate threat of a petite woman about to fly into her at light speed. She finds all the nerves of the much smaller Patrician immediately, the bloodstream, her heart, and your hand closes and with it the life of John's mother. The Patrician's body turns to dust, her clothes and glasses vanishing into a pure white light. All the ash hits Vriska in the face, but then disappears shortly after with another flash of light.

You're ridiculously freaked out for about half a second that Vriska's plan actually worked, but then _another_ Patrician comes speeding from the opposite direction and shoulder-checks Vriska in the lower back. Vriska maintains her control over you, just barely, but she's sent flying into the door of the cave. She catches herself on all fours against it, and with the aid of her necromancy cushioning her by crumpling the gold underneath her feet, she rebounds back off it.

"A little help with my mother-in-law, John!!!!!!!!" Vriska hollers, as she lands on the ground.

You see the Condesce recover from the biomancy stint, booking it towards you, and she probably could have crossed the cavern to you and forked your corpse into irredeemable shreds in two gratuitously large steps if Feferi didn't distract her. "Hey!" calls Feferi, from her bubble. The Condesce whips around. "Are you seariously picking on a cripple? Pathetic! Tunaround and pick on the trolls who can at least put up a fight! You dirt poor piece of fin, you're a glubbin' sad old lady!"

Good to know the Condesce is triggered by people calling her fancy words for 'chicken of the sea.' The Condesce tromps over to Feferi, every overpowered godtier spell and weapon at her command, and fires it all at Feferi’s bubble in a cacophony of pink fireworks. Steam and smoke billows off the bubble, but it doesn't break. Feferi sticks out her tongue and makes a 'pbbbpptthh' noise at the Condesce.

John is floating mid-air behind you, a look of tonally inappropriate confusion on his face. "< _Moooooooom!_ >" he whines, in the way a wriggler would if their custodian wouldn't let them go to the fair. "< _Mom, are you crazy? What are you doing? I thought you hated the Condesce!_ >"

You've been whipping your head back and forth too much under Vriska's command, so you haven't been able to see what fuckery the Patrician actually performed on herself. She appears to have cloned herself, about twenty times, her doubles standing in perfect hands-steepled posture in various strategic positions around the cave. You had no fucking idea magic of this type existed, the kind where you can make flesh and blood, the kind that's existentially horrifying if you think about it for two seconds. Those aren't illusions. 

"< _Oh yes, I do hate her. Deeply. I’m surprised you don’t understand, child of mine,_ >" says one underneath John. For the first time you've seen her, ever, her perfect porcelain face cracks and she smiles all big and genuine, more like Jade than anyone. She has the same dental challenges and tooth gap as the rest of their brood. "< _If there's no challenger of an equivalent level to play chess with me, then where will I find my fun?_ >"

John's face transitions to a more appropriate look of abject, soul crushing horror. Yeah John, it fucking should, his lack of quadrant knowledge just bit everyone in the ass. Besides that, his mother is apparently a complete psychopath with terrible taste in partners and even the infinitesimal amount of faith he put in her was way too much. You throw your arms down to your side, tense, blue sparks all over you. You gain the control of six, seven, eight Patricians, their bodies sparkling with your neon red. In a bizarre three way chain of command, Vriska uses you to use the Patricians to begin to cast a massive wind spell. You feel for the first time what it's like to cast magic: you feel all lightheaded, electric, smell a pleasant summer breeze that covers the scent of the dank mountain cave.

But the spell never leaves your eighty fingers, the other Patricians fly to Vriska's Patricians, black coats billowing, and tap their respective shoulders. Vriska’s Patricians vanish in a flash of white, the sense of life leaves you, and Vriska makes a noise from across the cave like she's going to blow a gasket.

John, meanwhile, is attempting to do the same ethically dubious cloning thing that his mother did. He's doing it far slower, making this expression like someone's forcing him to eat moldy grubloaf. He's got his left arm duplicated only, missing from his original body, but glowing white in a bunch of random spots above you in the cave. He takes a deep breath, fixes his face, and then the original John vanishes into twenty more. All the arms are now attached to living, breathing John-humans, two of which to the right of you are close enough to give each other an encouraging selfcestuous fistbump.

The Condesce finally stops falling for Feferi’s taunting, whips her trident from whatever inter-dimensional plane she stores it in, and impales the nearest John through the chest. That John gapes, blood bursting from his mouth, then flashes white and disappears, clothes and all.

"Don't destroy my children," says a Patrician. Vriska uses you to explode eight Patricians at once. With a white, fuzzy light, eight more pop back into existence. "The others are fair game. Your choice of the Serket brood was a tactical error, so we'll make arrangements for another partner for my son. Eliminate her, and the Peixes when the bubble drops."

The Condesce makes a finger pistol and clicks her teeth together. "I glubbin' know, Betty."

Jade, who by the look on her face has no fucking clue as to what's going on but isn't one to shut up and stay docile in moments of crisis, knocks over the desk and jumps onto the edge of it. She pulls the hugest stalactite in the cave off the ceiling with her necromancy, and sends it flying straight at the Condesce. The Condesce literally just holds her fist in front of her face and punches the damn thing in half. 

All the Johns are flying around and trying to shoulder-tap the Patricians into non-existence, both John and Patrician flashing white and turning to aether when they touch each other, but neither of them are fast enough to outdo the other. They keep fucking duplicating, but you can't dwell on it any further because your head gets light and foggy, like you're going to faint. Your hands flicker blue, on and off, like a candle trying desperately to stay lit in the wind.

You look around the battlefield of clones and ship parts for Vriska, whom you lost track of. She's all the way back against the gold door, and through the mass of weird familial appearification magic trickery, you see her grabbing at her own throat, her face blood-blue. It explains why Vriska hasn't been doing the smart thing and going exclusively for the Condesce— one of the Patricians has been casting a breath-taking spell on her, and by the looks of it, Vriska’s going to pass out in seconds. If she loses control of you, that's fucking it, and you don't want to sit this one out anymore. You're invested.

"< _John!_ >" you yell, as loud as you can. "< _Help Vriska!_ >"

Six or seven of him snap their heads to look at her, and about four of him half-phase, half-fly to where she is. You watch her knees buckle, her eyes roll back in her head, and that's it, your soul is unbound. You're doomed to sit this one out in the eternal waiting room of dark, either waking up to Jade's face and getting a recap or waking up to The Secret God making you a pancake breakfast.

But you’re only out for the blink of an eye. Hell, you don’t even fall over, you’re still standing. You look around for who soul trapped you; Vriska’s still unconscious against the floor of the cave.

Jade teleports behind you, puts her hand on your lower back to let you know she's there. She says, shaky but collected, near your ear, "< _Karkat, what do I do?_ >"

You know you could tell her to do anything, but you really only see one way out of this: to continue with the plan. You glance at the Condesce, who is preoccupied with barreling through magic tornadoes and pieces of wood and forking gale-casting Johns left and right, killing them like flies. She's busy, and Jade already knows how to wield you, so it should work. "< _Use me to cull the Condesce,_ >" you whisper.

She doesn't even hesitate, she trusts you that much. She lifts your hand up to channel your biomancy. But through some black magic shenanigans, Her Imperious Condescension actually managed to eavesdrop on your conversation. The Condesce punches a John straight out of the air without looking at him, her teeth barred at Jade, her forehead lighting up pink with the Peixes symbol, and goddesses, no, fuck, you _cannot_ be under the control of the Condesce, you don't want to feel yourself kill your friends.

Jade knows that light is for her, and she knows what it means. So Jade does one last, desperate thing: she lets go of you. Your last thought is that you're going to be out for a while— if you even make it back at all. But because life is full of fun little surprises, it's maybe about a second before you're fully conscious again… But you're not in your body.

John stares down at you, blinking in confusion. He is way, way, way too close for comfort. His nose is like, in your fucking eyeball. "< _Uh, why is it red now?_ >" he asks you. You are unable to reply, because you don't have a living mouth. Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, a thousand times, fuck. You know where you are. You’re pinned to Vriska’s hat. 

How'd she do that? And more importantly, how deep a pile of shit are you in? The deepest, rankest pile of shit that ever existed, probably. There is no shovel big enough to possibly scoop you out of the shit pit you’ve fallen in.

You've got enough of a radius of vision to see other things besides John's ugly mug, and you direct the sole eye in your socket to look at where your body is. Across the cave, between tens of Patricians and John Ebgerts vanishing and appearifying, you see a Condesce-controlled Jade standing over your face-down corpse. Your body plants its hands on the floor, hoists itself up, and balances, tenuously, on legs Mindfang isn't used to walking on. Your body’s eyes glow with that sickening Serket Blue. She runs your hands up your own chest, up your throat, up the sides of your face, closes your eyes. Your body looks like it's trying to take a sexy shower. You feel like you've hit a new level of narcissism by watching yourself get hot and steamy. Also if you could vomit, you'd be doing that right now.

She holds your arms out, palms flat to the ground. Red biomancy crackles along them. Mindfang says the word, “Stop,” in your voice, and spreads your fingers wide. Red dances across the cave, jerking across the floor, to Jade, the Condesce, every John and every Patrician, to everyone but you. And they all stop what they’re doing, John stops casting spells, comes to a comic halt in midair, the Patrician steeples her fingers together and waits, Feferi folds her arms in her bubble, Eridan and the two officiators behind the desk peek their heads over the side, the pink symbol on Jade’s forehead vanishes. Convinced she has everyone’s attention, Mindfang drops control. No one moves.

"Oh, dear pet, little broken bird, failure-of-mine" says Mindfang, in your voice, with a bedroom purr that you didn't think was compatible with your sandpaper vocal chords, but she made it work somehow. "You feel so good. You wasted everything. You could have been so powerful, you could have been a somebody."

You'd tell her 'I am _damn_ comfortable being a nobody, thank you very much,’ but you can't figure out how to make your voice work inside a skull. A Patrician has some auto-reaction to Mindfang and she tries to fire a massive gust of wind at your body, but you're immune to magic. Your body's clothes don't even sway, but Jade’s hair flies every which way. You hear the Condesce scrape her trident against the floor.

"You filthy, skeletal beach!" screams the Condesce. "I shoulda perma-culled ya centuries back when I had the chance!"

The Condesce is so fast that it's damn close to teleportation. She slides around your body, her hair billowing around her like she's underwater. She's drenched with tyrian blood, eyes wild, John managed to cut her up pretty bad but it's nothing she'll die from. Jade covers her head and ducks. The Condesce aims the trident over your body's head. Mindfang doesn't move. She wiggles your fingers.

The Condesce explodes.

This isn't an ashy explosion either, not what Vriska was doing with you. This is a fine, bloody powder of explosion, skin and muscle and bone decimated into minuscule grains. Her black, latex sexploitation armor and jewelry are the only things left, and they clatter to the floor over the pile of pink body dust. The leftover breezes from the Patrician’s spell scatter the dust across the room.

Her Imperious Condescension is dead, long live the Empress.

Feferi doesn't look all that jazzed in the bubble, she looks like she wants to punch Mindfang apart. There's a sense of everybody holding their breath. The room waits for what "you'll" do next.

"Why?" says a Patrician near you, who from your sideways angle doesn't seem to look all that disappointed. Or much of anything.

"I'm a sentimental girl," your body says. Mindfang struggles to stay balanced with your prosthetic, but manages to stay standing. "And I think it's time for some new blood, no? Especially when that new blood is going to let me sail free on Alternian waters, for helping her so dearly."

“Of course,” says Feferi, coldly. “You’re welcome on Alternian seas.”

Mindfang wobbles, like she’s trying to step forward, and it gives you a wild sense of relief that you can do at least one thing right with your body that nobody else can: walk. You can't see where she's trying to go, because John turns Vriska over. He leans in to-

"Your legality is indeed up to her," says the Patrician. "But I cannot allow you to possess my dear daughter's knight-to-be."

It is clear as goddamn glass that Patrician Crocker doesn't want you back in your body because of Jade. It's because you're incompetent as fuck in it, while Mindfang could easily destroy half of Earthen territory with you.

John kisses Vriska, and you get a nice view of his stupid crown.

Mindfang laughs, which on you sounds like more of a walloping cough. "And her dear heart will be in his rightful body again. I'm long beyond wanting power like this. What ever would I do with it now that I care not about young things, when all I know is long since dead? You see, beautiful woman, I just want to _live._ "

You're relatively sure that means you're getting your body back soon. Mostly sure. Vriska inhales like a forge lighting up, then sits up so fast she almost knocks John over. He helps her to stand. While John is a height-monster whose clones block a hell of a lot of your view, Vriska is at least taller than the Patrician, so you can look over her heads.

You can see what Mindfang is doing, now. She's trying to turn your body to face Jade. Jade appears to be freaked as fuck about this, staring at your body like it just tried to hit on her without consent. She calms down when Mindfang brushes your hand against the edge of Jade's jaw, and you remember how she feels on your fingertips, you remember how warm she is, you remember exactly how Jade always leans into your touch. You see a brief flash of red from Mindfang, a spark dances along Jade's cheek which pops harmlessly into her iris.

"I need you," Mindfang says, and it's a near perfect imitation of your voice. You sound like a total sap, your body looks at Jade with soft eyes. This is probably your worst nightmare. Your alt-self hitting on your witch. If you were in a body right now, you’d absolutely be sporting a horrendously massive rage-boner.

"Yes, love," says Jade. "Anything."

"Uh, gross?" say five Johns at once, in the exact same tone. You're inclined to agree. There is a negative two hundred percent chance that Jade is confusing you for Mindfang, so it must be some sort of... mind control? Can you apparently do that? Also Jade, like, never calls you pet names, why the fuck does Mindfang get a pet name!? You want her to call you "love."

"Would you get the dry bones left in the captain's quarters and bring them to me? And the scimitar next to them, my dear."

"Sure, Karkat," says Jade. She teleports away. Vriska plucks you off her hat, and stares into your eyesockets. She's still a bit blue in the face, but she's smiling.

"Glad Mindfang came through. We agreed she’d be backup, but I was worried, honestly," she whispers to you, breathing heavily. "Whatever. Still winning. Part 2 starts when she frees up your bod."

John looks at Vriska, then quirks an eyebrow at you. Right, he doesn't know about Vriska's ridiculous coup yet. You don’t have a lot of time left to tell him. She holds the skull against her chest so you can see what's happening.

Jade is back, a pile of decrepit bones hovering around her. She holds Mindfang’s enchanted scimitar. She looks at your body impatiently, like you're the one actually in it and you're giving her the silent treatment. You wonder what Mindfang did to her.

“Dearest Serket,” Mindfang calls. “Toss me my skull.”

With the aid of her necromancy, Vriska hurls your current vessel over the crowd of Johns and Patricians so your body can catch it. Mindfang, with your ugly mug, stares into your eyes, smiling in a way that doesn’t fit your mouth. Her hands, your hands, have so much biomancy coursing through them they’re glowing pure red. “I must put thee to sleep, child, but you shall be back in your body within the minute. I need your blood, just a little bit more, the littlest bit.”

She turns the skull around so you can see what she’s using your biomancy for. She’s building a body, from her old bones. She’s got your red channeling through Jade, Jade’s eyes the color of Terezi’s. Jade is putting together all the dead parts while your biomancy is putting together all the living parts. The “living parts” are constructed from the minuscule remnants of the Condesce, assembling like the sands of an hourglass, building skin and guts and pink blood and muscle.

Mindfang sends your soul off to death-town, but you think you’re only there for a couple minutes, long enough for her to finish the body. You wake up in your own corpse again, home-sweet-home, hands held out like you were in the middle of casting a spell. You entertain the notion that Mindfang resurrected you, but then you clench your fists and everything feels dull and asleep, and fuck, still dead. At least she bothered to put you back in your own body— you have a feeling it’s not a common necromancer ability to be able to swap souls around bodies like a mix-and-match.

Jade’s moved to stand next to you, while you’re facing a very naked Mindfang, holding a sword. She’s pretty much just sexier Vriska. Way sexier. Way, way, way… way sexier. You and Jade, who apparently isn’t mind controlled anymore, have your mouths hanging open like you’ve been starving for two weeks and are standing in front of a giant roast turkey. Mindfang opens her eyes, showing off living, tyrian irises. Mindfang bows extravagantly to the both of you, flourishing her arm like she’s holding a big fancy hat covered in feathers.

“My dears, I thank you for your service,” she says, her voice real and pleasant, from a brand spanking new voicebox. She straightens up, then calls to Vriska. “I would like my sickening pirate outfit back, please.”

Vriska pushes her way through the crowd, the Patrician making no effort to attack her anymore. They just watch her, calm, hollow blue eyes following her walk. Vriska hands over the coat and hat to Mindfang, who unfortunately puts them on right away.

“You know, I really like that coat,” says Vriska. “I think I’m going to take it back some day. The ship too, I made some really good improvements on that piece of junk.”

“You’ll rue the day,” says Mindfang, with a perfect smile. “Now, come show me said ‘improvements,’ dearest Serket, so I may sail the seas once again.”

Vriska follows Mindfang to the large hull of the ship, and considering Vriska never follows anyone _anywhere_ , it shows how much she respects the sexier, senile version of herself. That’s fucking weird. Both of them begin gathering up their necromancy, piecing the broken ghost ship back together.

Feferi is still in her bubble, eyes scanning the room for threats, paying particular attention to Mindfang. Eridan and the two officiators are standing up, tilting the desk back up on its legs, and straightening papers. You turn to Jade.

“Are you okay? What’d she do to you?”

“What’d she… What do you mean? I…” Jade doesn’t appear to understand the question, but then it hits her. Her mouth makes a stupid adorable ‘o’ shape. “Oh! Oh, of course. That was dumb of me, of course she did something. I think she used her biomancy to make me think it was you the whole time.”

You can’t help but smile. It’s the little moments. “So as long as I say, ‘I need you,’ no matter how absurd or ridiculous the request is, you’ll call me a cute pet name and go off and do it for me?”

She shrugs, grinning. “Guilty as charged?”

You glance over at Vriska and Mindfang, who are busy necromancing the hull together. All the Patricians and all the Johns are grouping into their respective teams, on different sides of the cave. You realize that this is a perfect opportunity to tell John about Vriska's plan.

“Jade, who’s soul trapping me right now? You or Vriska?”

“Vriska,” says Jade, frowning. “Mindfang handed you over without giving me a chance.”

“Shit,” you say, glancing around for the nearest John. There’s one a couple yards away from you. “I’ll be right back.”

You scuttle off, as sneakily as you can, to John Egbert. He’s not super far away from the larger group of them, who are all congregating towards the entrance of the cave. Some of the Johns are stretching their backs. One John goes over to the injured John who got punched out of the air, wheezing and writhing on the floor from broken bones and lens shards in his face, and taps him into bright white non-existence. Another John taps _that_ John into non-existence.

"< _Um, okay, hi 'me's, who wants to be alpha!John this time?_ >" says one.

They all shrug in unison, like nobody cares enough to be the "alpha," whatever that means. Four of them suggest, at the exact same time and with the exact same tone of voice, that they all draw straws. Five of them suggest fantasy-Connect Four. Three suggest a mass game of rock paper scissors.

On the opposite end of the cave, the Patrician appears to take a 'last woman standing' approach to the cloning process, and they all tap each other on the shoulders until all but one have vanished into a foggy outline of white. The final one shimmers white a little bit, like the universe is straightening its metaphorical Patrician cards out and getting her all in order. 

“< _John,_ >” you hiss, when you’re close enough. It’s just you and him, the other Johns are too far away to listen. He stops walking and turns to you, a relaxed smile on his face. Without any preamble, you whisper, "< _John, Vriska’s going to use me to murder your mother._ >"

He stops smiling. All the color, of which there isn't much, drains from his face. But he doesn't say a word.

For a second, you’re freaked out you forgot how to speak Common. You got the word for ‘mother’ right? Right? You always fuck that one up. But you’re horrified to note that this isn’t the case at all. John’s not staring at you like he doesn’t understand you, he’s staring at you with the blank, repressed, not-thinking-about-it kind of zoned out stare you’ve seen on him when he has to make a tough decision.

He already knows. Or at least, already guessed it.

Everything clicks into place for you in a way it didn’t when Feferi was explaining the coup to you. John wasn’t concerned about the Patrician aggravating the succession crisis in Alternia, because Ms. Betty Crocker wasn’t going to be the Patrician anymore. He wasn’t concerned that the Patrician still would have no qualms with executing John’s dad, because as soon as she was dead John would be the one giving the final pardons and the orders. John’s plan all along, to save his dad, then to save Feferi and his friends, then to probably save Alternia, was to pull a coup on his own mother. 

John chose one parent over the other. Not even John can totally repress it, and under your probably pretty alarmed looking gaze, he presses his hand against his mouth and closes his eyes tight. You expect him to recover, to stamp it down and forget about it his John-like-way, but he doesn’t. He gets worse, both hands go to his mouth, then slide up, press under his glasses and against his face. 

You hear Mindfang’s ship leave in a whoosh of wind, in the creaking of ghostly boards. You don’t look away from John, breaking in two. His shoulders quiver.

“Oh god, Karkat,” he whispers into his hands, with the tense tone of someone about to cry. "< _Don't say it like that…_ >"

"Say it like fucking what!?" you sputter, barely managing to keep yourself under eavesdropping levels. "What the fuck do you think she's- _you’re_ going to do!? There's no other way to put it, you idiot!"

He wipes away some tears with the heel of his hand. "< _I can't do it if you say it like that,_ >" he chokes out. "< _But I have to. It's the right thing to do. And I have to do the right thing, Karkat, even if it's hard. I just wish you hadn't said-_ >"

You reach out to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, to force him to think about what he's doing. Matricide doesn't bother you all that much as a concept, hell, a rite of passage for like three blood colors involve them butchering their custodian and devouring them for the next two weeks like an all you can eat buffet. What bothers you is a three for one combo of: 1. The fact that he's trying to repress all the shitty consequences of his actions under that classic 'ends justify the means' mantra. 2. That he's going to goddamn ascend to the throne by underhanded tactics. 3. The fact that John, maybe, probably, feels something like love for his mother. And that's got to sting.

John bites his lip and shuts his eyes when you put your hands on his shoulders, like he’s at peace. You understand why he does this when he vanishes into an outline of white, then pops out of existence. Goddammit. You wanted to yell at him more. Why the hell did you think that your magic immunity didn't apply here?

Well, now that you know, in retrospect, you probably would have been more useful just running around and slamming your hands into random clones. But also, wait, holy shit, fridge horror. 

You look at all the other Johns, discussing who has the most relevant thing worth remembering, and who don't look upset at all because they weren't the John you just talked to. These clones don't have a collective memory, do they? Just one survives, just one remembers. 

You just perma-killed John. Or… a John? And also, not really? You know what, John clearly doesn't think about it, and neither should you. Although you have a feeling the topic's going to come back to you bimonthly in the middle of the night and keep you up for a couple hours.

John _let you touch him._ He knew what your blood could do. He absolutely fucking knew. He's fast enough, you know he's fast enough, he could have dodged you. You freeze up, feeling colder than a corpse. He force-forgot you reminded him that killing loved ones is generally a bad thing. Probably so he didn’t have to put actual thought into his questionable moral choices before he mindlessly makes them, that asshole, that garbage pit, that pile of shit. 

You open your mouth to yell it out, to all of them, so John can't just take the easy road and avoid having a good think about what he's going to do here, but Vriska's paying attention again and wires your jaw shut with her blue necromancy. That was it, that was your one chance, and he did nothing with it.

So… fuck. You're gonna kill John's mom.


	19. Pandimensional Chess: Checkmate

John collectively decides Alpha John should be the one who gave Vriska’s breath back to her, since apparently it’s the most worthwhile memory. The winning John taps the others until he’s the only one that remains, shimmering with white light to signify he’s the last man standing. He walks over to where your friends and his mother are, near the desk, while you’re stuck necromanced towards the entrance of the cave, near the door. He starts talking to his mother, you can’t hear what he’s saying, but he doesn’t look particularly upset with her. Do they have these kind of fights on normal days or can he just forgive people that fast? Gods. You feel sick to your stomach, an accomplishment when you’re fucking dead. Vriska heads over to you, beaming with excitement.

"Heeeeeeeey," says Vriska, sliding up to you. She whispers her next monologue so quiet you can barely hear. As you listen further, you realize you really _can’t_ hear it, she’s just mouthing the words to you and using her necromancy to communicate the intent direct to your brain. Fucking weird. Probably so the others can’t eavesdrop. "I saw you talking to John! I can't leave you alone for eight seconds, can I? Although, well, good thing you told him, because while I couldn't hear your stupid secrets, I can make a great guess as to what you 'warned' him about, and I saw what John did after. Can you believe he ran from the truth? From what he knows is the right thing to do? He's soooooooo pathetic, right?" 

Her words are just dripping with unrequited pity. You remember how your heart felt when you were deep in-pity, all tight and full, almost ‘love’ but too wracked with guilt to be so. Vriska lets you whisper. "Vriska, you're fucking insane. This is fucking insane."

"Isn't it?" she mouths, her eyes sparkling. "I honestly didn't expect that twist, that John knows he _has_ to do what's best for the world! Everything is so much easier now.”

She places her hands on your shoulders and positions you. You want to fight her off, but she holds your fists down with her necromancy. She turns you so that your back is to your friends, while she’s facing them.

"Who would have thunk he’d be okay with it, though? I thought he'd fight me on it, but he actually wants me to! He's just too much of a huge, sniveling coward to do the deed himself! Anyway…" she glances around your shoulder, probably to check if everyone's in position. Oh goddess… "I had this super intense plan to make it look like an accident, but I guess I don't have to do that at all! Because John wants it, and he's going to be in command! Nobody can charge me! So I can just do… this!"

You're not even looking at the Patrician, she should at least be able to face her death. It's not right, not right at all. 

Your arm flings out, biomancy at the ready, and you call out to the Patrician’s very self. The cool thoughts, the tension in her muscles, the way her heart pumps all calm and collected, suspecting nothing. You shut your eyes tight. Vriska closes your hand, and you feel the life of the Patrician vanish and disintegrate like it's nothing at all. And there's no more tricks, no more duplicates, if she got any last words in, any last looks, you have no idea. You hear Feferi and Eridan scream, Jade makes a choking noise. Vriska lets you turn around to see.

Jade is standing to the right of the desk, looking at the pile of ashes and clothes like she's staring at the sun, blinking over and over again, trying to clear up her eyes. Eridan’s jaw is dropped open to the floor. The officiators, who have been good, stoic sports this whole event, finally look a little alarmed. Feferi has her hands over her mouth, eyes popped and wide. You don't think she knew about John’s intent either, it was just you and John, and now Vriska.

Since he was talking to his mother at the time, John is literally standing right next to the pile of ashes. He has his hands held out in front of him and his palms up in sort of a half-shrug, like he was in the middle of gesturing and got hit by a freezing spell. He's staring not at the pile, but a few feet above it, where his mother's head would have been. His blank look isn't one of those 'I'm trying to process the situation' looks, nor is it one of those 'tra la la I'm off in imagination land right now' looks, it's just… empty. There's nothing there at all. Like he can't absorb it, what just happened.

Jade's the first one to recover. She screams bloody murder, her face mangled in a kind of rage you haven't seen since she was grimbark, her arms lighting with green. She throws them up, towards the cave ceiling, ready to call down hell on Vriska. Vriska moves you into position to biomancy Jade.

"Oh god, Vriska," you say, terrified to the point where it does a full reacharound and makes your voice come out flat and steady. "Don't make me do this."

"Jeez, Karkat, I'm not a bad guy," says Vriska, and your hand tenses up and Jade pulses with red, her hands snapping back down to her sides, her necromancy snuffing out. You feel your power tug on Jade's throat, silencing her yell, and Jade grits her teeth and tries to wriggle out of invisible bonds she can't possibly break. Your hand stays steady. Vriska yells to her, "Hey, Harley, what's the big deal? You didn't even like her anyway!"

It's true, Jade would actively avoid speaking with her mother whenever they happened to be in the same place. If they ever had an average human familial bond, it was well before you met Jade. You think the reason she reacted this way was probably due to a lot of complex reasons, the weight she places on the connections she makes. You'll have to ask her about it when you get the chance, to try your best to make it better. Whatever Jade's answer is, Vriska doesn't let her say it.

John still isn't moving. Feferi looks at John, and something triggers her. She's not shocked after she looks at him, she's pissed. Her lip curls and she bares her teeth, tensing up like she's about to spring.

"Vriska!" yells Feferi, with a confidence and fury she'll need to pull this job off. The bubble disintegrates around her, and with a surprising force, she leaps on top of the desk and draws her trident from behind her back. "Vriska! What did you do!?"

Vriska groans. "Are you seriously threatening me right now? You're so dumb! You're almost making me regret the decision to back you up." Your hand that isn't currently holding Jade pulses with Vriska's blue, and you channel your biomancy into Feferi, to make her drop her trident onto the ground. It lands with a clatter on the rock. "I don't even know why you're mad, like, you had no personal connection to that lady _and_ your BFF is now going to be the best co-ruler ever? This whole thing is a win-win for you, are you too stupid to realize that?"

‘BFF,’ huh? Sometimes, Vriska, people aren't just out for some narcissistic goal and care about other people's feelings, and you cannot believe she seriously missed out on that elementary lesson. You try to give Vriska the stink eye, but apparently she has your head movements on lockdown and you can't look at her, or even think about opening your mouth.

Feferi folds her hands behind her back, her eyes locked across the cave to Vriska's. "Isfile, do you have at least two copies of the ascension contracts? Both Earthen and Alternian?"

The troll officiator nods in the affirmative. Feferi sighs. "I seapose we'll need both. Would you begin filling them out for us please? < _Mary, would you do the Patrician's?_ >"

The officiator pulls out two stupidly large pieces of parchment, and summons a feather pen. Not risking a blast from an unpredictable Vriska nor daring to displace the new Empress from her apparent stepstool, both officiators duck down behind the desk to start filling them out. Feferi's gaze hones in on Vriska, harsh, calculating what to do with her, and occasionally flicking to you, probably considering what it means for punishment when Vriska currently has control of what is essentially a one-hit-kill power. You don't think a pink bubble would stop your biomancy.

"Secondly-" she begins.

John recovers, blinking rapidly and shifting back to a more normal posture. Feferi immediately shuts up, aware that this really isn't her battle to fight. He adjusts his glasses, then starts to say something, but it comes out as a garblely croak. He coughs. His voice still comes out worn, like he just burnt his throat.

"< _I'm sorry, I…_ >" He coughs again. His voice comes out nearly normal, now. "< _I should’ve…_ >”

What John thinks he should have done remains unsaid. John covers his mouth with his hands and squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to cry or scream or yell. But unlike the last time, where he couldn’t recover, this time he manages to shoulder through it. He inhales, sharp, then relaxes, returning to a normal posture and a facial expression that could contend for the dictionary definition of ‘neutral’.

“< _Hey, Mary?_ >” he says. “< _I have one thing for you to do really quick, before you start my— you know. It's really important._ >"

He walks over to the desk, gingerly stepping around the pile of clothes and ash his mother left. Feferi moves aside and he places his arms on the desk, leans over to look down at the two officiators. You can't see his face, all you can see is his back. You and Vriska glance at each other, she apparently doesn't know what the hell he's up to.

“Please file a warrant for Vriska’s arrest,” he tells Mary, in Alternian, so Vriska can unquestionably understand. “I'll be fulfilling it immediately, but you know, paperwork and red tape and all that."

Everyone in the room is baffled as balls, especially Vriska. You're totally lost as to what the hell he's doing, like, is this a prank? Jade stops struggling against your biomancy and stares at John like he just grew three more arms. Eridan has an eyebrow raised. Vriska has her eyes narrowed and her head tilted forward and her mouth hanging open like he was speaking in tongues. Feferi appears pleasantly surprised. The human officiator whips out a sheet of paper from her folder and begins filling in the form at light speed.

"< _What's the charge?_ >" asks the officiator.

"Grand treason," says John. "You know, the murder kind."

"You're fucking kidding," says Vriska, with the deadpan monotone of someone who just had the carpet yanked out from underneath them.

"I've got-" he turns around. He’s _almost_ got that default John-smile on his face again. He counts everyone in the room but Vriska, one by one. "-six witnesses, one being the Empress, so it should be good to go."

You're definitely not going to be the good witness he thinks you are if there's some future show trial. John doesn't know that you know that he was complicit in the murder, because he had you _fucking kill him_ when you revealed you knew. But if Vriska were to let you talk right now, you're not sure you'd say anything anyway— you've gotten completely lost as to which string you are in the bizzaro tangled web he weaved.

Vriska scoffs, probably trying to act tough. "C'mon, you wanted to be the Patrician."

"What are you _talking_ about, Vriska?" he says, completely aghast.

Vriska rolls her eyes. "You already accepted it! You were all ready to let me do all the dirty work so you could get what you wanted!" she says, and you swear you hear a kind of awe in her voice. You don't think John has ever pulled something like this in front of her, ever.

He clenches his fists. "I did not," he says, intense, almost too quiet to hear. "Accept my mom _getting murdered_ , Vriska."

You don't think he thinks he’s lying. He's ignoring the real intent of the statement in order to respond truthfully, which is about ten levels of abstractness too intense for you. You have no fucking idea how he can do this. If you were in this same situation, you would have self-analyzed to the point of teary breakdown.

Vriska realizes she can't win if she's operating on the frankly insane plane of denial John is ruler of. There's this befuddled silence from Vriska, like she doesn't know what to do when having to take a strategical step in retreat. Especially considering the buck toothed idiot who is forcing her go into metaphorical defense mode. She switches tactics.

"John, listen," Vriska leans back in a swagger, smirks way too big, then throws her hands down like two karate chops. She looks like she's trying to broker a deal. "Listen. John. John. Joooooooohn. I get that this new transition is going to be hard for you, but I promise you I'm going to be there for you the whole time! There's no need to lash out at the people who care about you."

"Care about me?" John raises an eyebrow. He gets this odd grin on his face, something you’ve seen on him when he’s about to pull a good prank. "You've been trying to wrastle the kingdom from me since we were like, kids! In the last year you've sent six forged letters to foreign city-states with my name on it, poisoned eight merchants through secondhand means, payed thirteen assassins for diplomatic assassinations with royal treasury money, invested in many suspicious and unethical stocks and bonds under the Crocker name, illegally distributed massive caches of stolen weapons to our dragoons, and have been trying to move the date nearer on our impeding wedding to super solidify your position." He pauses to take a breath. "I think I got everything, didn't I?"

Vriska’s mouth, throughout his rant, dropped further and further open until she had to think really hard about it to snap it closed. "How," was all she could say. "How?"

"Well, you see, while you're real sneaky and clever and cover your tracks better than everyone I've ever met, I've got something more important," he claps his hands together, a big smile on his face. "Friendship! I have a lot of friends. They tell me lots of interesting things that money or threats can't keep a secret."

“Fuck friendship!" Vriska stammers.

“Yeah, that’s not… really a good attitude to have?” John sort of fake-sighs, prankster's gambit meter breaking out of its casing and into a full parabola. “Anyway, I can’t really catch you on those things, like I said, you’re pretty good at hiding the evidence from the law or whatever. But you just did something… unforgivable. And there’s no hiding from this one. It’ll put you away for a while.”

You basically can’t think anything but ‘holy shit,’ and judging by the mindfucked faces everyone else in the room is making, they’re thinking the same thing. Vriska, though, Vriska looks like she’s going to implode, like she’s two seconds away from murdering everyone here. You back away from her, she doesn’t seem to notice. 

Vriska realizes she's been betrayed by a person who she thought never had it in him. She's never had a variable in a plan go so badly, go totally opposite her expectations. You have never seen Vriska Serket crushed before, and you don't think you ever will again. Although crushed isn't exactly the right descriptor, it's more like, shattered into a billion unassembleable pieces.

She yells with all the hoarse sorrow of someone who just had their heart broken. "John, you cannot be Patrician without me, you're- you’re _pathetic!_ ” She almost sobs out that last word. “How did you get here, right here, at the top of the ladder, as Patrician? I made this whole plan up for you! And look at you, look at Feferi, it worked! You can't make a single tactical decision by yourself, you're nothing without me!"

John’s prankster’s gambit breaks through the floor and descends into hell. He leans back against the desk, casually, totally unfazed by Vriska breaking down. “< _Hey, Mary, is the warrant done?_ >”

“< _Yes._ >”

"God- I- I'll kill you!" Vriska screams. She throws her arms out, hurls all her power into her hands. "I'll kill you!!!!!!!!"

John turns back to Vriska, stands up proper and straight. He gets that neutral expression on his face again, one you have a feeling you’re going to be seeing a lot in the future. A wind ruffles his hair, makes the long part of his jacket flare up around him. "… I'll play your resurrection game for you, Vriska."

That’s probably the most ballsy, most self-deterministic, and most passive-aggressive threat you’ve ever heard. You’re not sure if Vriska heard it. You’re not even sure if he meant it as a threat. 

"Idiot!" Vriska screams, and your hands shift up in a spellcasting stance. "I still have Karkat!"

With one arm, she uses her necromancy to begin to pull down the ceiling of the cave, causing the mountain to rumble, sending big chunks of rock tumbling down onto everyone, and with her other hand she readies you. Jade, now freed up from your biomancy, readies all her necromancy to try to counter and keep the cave from collapsing. But gods, Vriska’s powered entirely on rage batteries right now, you feel what she’s putting into you, she’s giving it her all. 

John moves to attack.

You hang out with a lot of powerful people. In fact, you almost exclusively hang out with powerful people. You and your friends are class-specced maxed out character sheets amongst billions of level 1 commoners. You forget this constantly, mostly because you’re either immune to your friends’ shenanigans or because you degrade yourself so much you forget that you basically hang out with a bunch of living gods. Not including Kankri, who’s basically so OP he’s broken, you probably would have called Jade the most powerful person out of everyone you know. 

That changes, right now.

John splits into exactly eight of himself in front of you. Vriska captures and decimates all of them with your biomancy. Neither of you see the ninth John.

There's a noise like the sound barrier breaking, then you're dead again.

You wake up a couple seconds later, Jade helping you up. When you’re standing, she clutches at your arms and does not let go, holding you tight like a blanket in a thunderstorm. You return the hug, but can’t look at her, because your eyes are locked on what’s happened in your absence.

Vriska Serket is slowly sliding down the side of the cave, like cooked spaghetti on a kitchen wall. She’s… not getting up again. There’s no need to check her pulse.

John, standing in the exact spot where Vriska was, looks like he's going to start bawling. His fingers dart up to his glasses, he pushes them against the bridge of his nose, and he lets his hand linger there, trying to cover up some expression or another. You start to step towards him, dragging Jade along,that inborn instinct to shoosh-pap people until they feel better taking over. Feferi gets to him first.

She fucking leaps off the desk, books it to him, her arms spread out as though to catch him from a great fall. John drops his hand, he holds his own arms out to her. As she runs, the both of them share a look that's dripping with diamonds, pale as the moon, so heavy you can feel the status of their relationship from where you're standing. In one, synchronized motion, they collide, then fold around each other and embrace to the point where you're not even sure you should be watching this. 

Everyone’s silent. After some time, John lets go of Feferi, turns to face the desk, and says with a hoarse voice,

“Finish the papers for ascension,” he pauses to clear his throat. It comes out strong, now. “And following that, without any delay, I want my father freed.”


	20. Pandimensional Chess: Match Set, Round 2 Begins

Because of the way Alternian ascension works, Feferi can just kick down the door, greet all the guards outside, and scream, "Guess who's Empress now, BEACHES!?" and they'll have to be fine with it. If any of them decide to defect and fight at that moment (Feferi assures you that none of them will, you have no fucking clue how she can be confident of this), Jade and the loyal guards can take the defectors down, or if there's too many, teleport Feferi to safety. 

John has to be more sneaky, humans aren't as accepting of random regicide, although it's made way easier for him considering Ms. Powerhouse Patrician brought very little staff with her. So Jade teleports you and John out before Feferi makes her grand exit. Jade brings you to John’s bedroom in the palace, the barest hint of blue dawn sun lighting up the one mattress in the room. It makes the shadows on John’s face all the more intense, you can't tell what his expression is.

Jade places her hand gently on your shoulder. She feels a little shaky, so you put your own cold dead hand over hers to try to still it. "< _John, would you watch Karkat until I get back?_ >"

"< _Of course,_ >" he smiles. He holds out his arms, as though to catch you.

Jade teleports away, sudden, and you don't find out if he catches you because you're dead as soon as she leaves. Your consciousness floats through that all-black waiting room, sort of like being asleep without the dreams, except you're semi-aware of it, and all your worries go away and you feel the essence of nothingness. Being dead is a relief after all those insane shenanigans.

You're brought back too soon, or… what seems like too soon. You have no idea how much time passes. Maybe a couple hours?

Your heart slams into gear and you get that pain in your chest like when you run for too long and your mouth fills with the taste of dry sock as you’re forcefully shat into life. You sit up like a mouse trap going off, your body trying to hack up a lung due to the shock of resurrection. Fuck, you miss Mindfang’s way already, you’d rather be kissed by a decrepit skull than have to go through this bullshit again.

Once you stop coughing, you look around to find whatever brave hero stepped up to play a game for your soul. You’re sitting on a couch in some small, private lounge. The only people in here are Jade, sitting in a high-backed armchair and gripping the arms like it's going to blast off and crash into the fucking wall, Aradia, standing over a small table with a chess set laid out, and Jake and John, sitting on opposite sides of said chess set. Jake is rubbing his temples with exasperation, and John is looking at you with a warm, but tired, closed-mouth smile.

“Hey,” says John, gently. “Welcome back.”

You look at the chess board, then back up at him. “You? You played chess for me and _won_?”

“< _When I got here he was already playing for you!_ >” says Jade, clearly trying to shake away some nerves. “< _I was so afraid he’d lose! John sucks at chess!_ >”

John rolls his eyes. "< _Jade, you think everyone sucks at chess! You're just way too good at it!_ >"

“< _He plays like a madman,_ >” groans Jake.

John scoots out his chair, then stands up and stretches his back. “< _Alright, well, that’s done! Two for two! Speaking of which, I should go check on Vriska. She’s been alone for a while so… I’m going to make sure she’s okay._ >”

He says his relatively muted goodbyes and exits the room. Jade leaps to her feet, tenses up, and blurts out, “Karkat we have to follow him!” 

“What? Wait, what!?” you say, confused as all hell. Jade’s already lifting you off the couch. “I don’t have a skirt on, I can’t-”

“< _Yes, I suppose you want that leg of yours hidden,_ >” says Jake, standing up and unwrapping his green robes. Underneath he’s wearing some excruciatingly tight booty shorts. “< _You can take mine._ >”

In the hall, Jade whips her head back and forth, sniffing the air, and drags you along after she catches a whiff of John. She explains, in a condensed form of about ten seconds of near incomprehensible words slapped together, that ‘everything’s fine but nobody really knows about Feferi or John yet and I’m fine too I swear okay stop trying to shooshpap me Karkat you’re slowing us down anyway there’s like two hours left before the party begins and we have to figure out what’s up with my brother he’s acting like he’s sooooo close to breaking down I’m really worried’.

“Wait, fuck, so _why_ are we following him? So what, he probably legitimately feels bad about Vriska, and is probably going to apologize to her before sentencing her to a labor camp or whatever. Let him make an ass of himself in private.”

She drags you down a corner, almost running, but her fishtail skirt slows her down. “I’m worried he’s going to do something bad! John was more fond of Mom than I _ever_ was and like, what if he’s snapped on Vriska? What if he’s going to torture her? What if he can’t handle the stress!? Oh no, what if he’s flipped alignments!?” she says, panicked. You turn another corner, pass by a couple sleepy partygoers, still in their pajamas and holding toothbrushes. “We were alignment buddies! Neutral good all the way!”

You should probably tell her John sort of wanted all this, but, uh, you maybe shouldn’t inform her of that when speed walking down a hallway in public. “What the fuck are you on about? He was always chaotic neutral.”

“Karkat, you think you’re lawful neutral. I don’t trust anything you say on alignments.”

“I am _so_ lawful neutral.”

You eventually catch up with him on the opposite side of the sprawling complex. One wall is all windows looking out onto a sunny morning mountainscape, so you must be at the edge of the building. You and Jade peek your heads around the corner to watch John talk to a troll guard posted outside an iron door with a large lock in the center of it. Whatever fuckery John says to the guard is apparently successful, because the troll salutes him, unlocks the door, and walks down the hall towards the two of you. You both have to jump back and pretend you're totally inconspicuous and innocent when the guard passes you: Jade puts her hands behind her back and starts whistling and you look down at the ground and twirl your hair around a finger. You're both complete morons.

The guard either doesn't notice or doesn't give a shit because he bypasses you without even giving you a glance. When he's safely out of the way, you both poke your heads around the corner again. John is gone, and the door is shut behind him. 

John apparently didn’t lock it behind him, because it opens just fine. Jade pushes on the door, and reveals a straight wooden staircase descending about a floor to a dimly lit basement. You already hear Vriska yelling, and you can kind of hear John saying something, but it's nigh impossible to understand over Vriska.

"Get out!" she screams, loud and hoarse, the kind of scream that makes your throat bleed if you keep it up for too long. "Get out, get out, get out, get out-"

You shut the door behind you, quiet, and you and Jade descend the stairs, careful not to make a creak. There's stone walls surrounding the stairs, and it sounds like Vriska's voice is coming from the left hand side. As you get closer to the bottom, you can pick up what John is on about.

"Ohhhhhhhh my god, Vriska, just listen, okay, I'm not here to berate you or anything! Wait, maybe I am a little but I think you're going to be cool with it? Seriously, just-"

The staircase ends with a deadend and an open door on the lefthand wall. Jade beckons you to get close to her, and you both peek around the frame to look into the holding cells.

A few yards away from you is where Vriska is held. The cell she's in has a magic, sparkly forcefield on three sides, one that's probably unlocked by a password or something (or your magic-immune ass barreling through it). There's two more cells down here, but both are empty. Vriska is, hilariously, standing on top of the prison bench chained to the one physical stone wall in the cell, screeching so loud you have to cover your ears. Her arms are fully tied behind her back with lightning-like magical handcuffs, which probably limit her necromancy.

John has his nose pressed up against the barrier, his back to the two of you. He's got his hands pressed against the sides of his head, and you can feel him getting more frustrated. He gets louder to match Vriska's "get out"s. 

"Vriska, please, just listen! I'm not here to get out, I'm here to get you out! Did you hear me!? I'm here to GET YOU OUT!!!!!!!!"

You and Jade share A Glance.

Vriska finally shuts up. Her teeth are barred, two fangs jutting over her lip and ready to bite. With a barely constrained rage, she says, "You've got some nerve, kid."

"So much nerve. All the nerve," John says, a little awkwardly, in the midst of calming down. Vriska is not amused. "Uh, okay, so I should clarify, you're probably not getting out for like… three days-ish? I'm so sorry about that, I-"

"What kind of idiot do you take me for!? Wait! Even better! What kind of idiot are you!!!!????" she yells. "There's no way you can extract _me,_ super hardcore queen-killer of death, and still keep your idiotic, stupid dignity! You fucked up John! You needed me and you fucked up in the worst way ever and now you're realizing it and come crying to me! Well that's too bad, because I don't pity you anymore John, I don't care!"

"Uh, yeah, sure," says John, not bothered by Vriska renouncing her feelings, that ass. "But you're wrong about me being an idiot… like always. You see, um, you’re not actually going to be convicted of anything.”

Vriska’s eyes narrow, she looks like she’s going to start foaming at the mouth. “What.”

“We've got someone else to pin all the blame on. After a couple days, me and Feferi are going to 'discover'-" he air-quotes. "- who the 'real'-" air quotes again. "-assassin was! And it's not going to be you, it's going to be someone who _wants_ the blame put on them. Which isn’t you."

You and Jade share Another Glance.

Vriska seems just as enthralled as you. Her brows unfurrow, and she slowly kneels, then sits down on the bench. "… Alright, John. I'm listening."

He puts his hands up against the barrier, then says, excitedly, "Feferi made this deal with her evil twin or whatever, Meenah. Originally the deal was just that she was going to get credit for killing the Condesce, but we’re going to pin the Patrician on her too. Me and you and Feferi might have pulled off a super awesome, action-packed, high stakes coup, but we're not going to get credit for it. We gotta be really careful to pull this off but like, you're not the queen-killer anymore, Vriska. It's Meenah! She wants the infamy! So you're free to go after we decide we mistakingly arrested you and discover…" With a dramatic voice, he says, "… the true culprit!"

And there's the final piece of the puzzle: how Feferi got Meenah off her back. Okay, you have to admit, Feferi was pretty goddamn clever throwing that deal down. Feferi gets a scapegoat to blame for the old guards of the Condescention's rule who might have been out for revenge, and also gets a reason to delay her assassination at the hands of her broodmate. Meenah gets the better end of the deal: an announcement to the world that there's another heir, and that heir is powerful and evil as fuck. The dangerous trolls, the ones who are pro-Condy-pro-cull to the end might fight against Feferi and rally behind Meenah based on Condesce-killing reputation alone. She also got the added benefit of having one of the two other tyrians eliminated from the face of the planet without having to get her hands dirty. And it was the more-dangerous one that got culled too. 

Vriska nods approvingly, despite herself. "Good plan. It's almost good enough to be one I thought up. Yeah, it's so awesome, I totally forgive you for killing me, breaking my heart, and throwing me in a jail cell! Completely forgiven!"

"Really?" says John, totally falling for it.

"No, you moron!" she snaps, nearly hissing. "If you were going to blame Meenah the whole time, why the hell did you even bother arresting me!? I've been rotting here, in pain, freaking out I’d have to start everything over after all I'd achieved and I'd have to bust out of jail and run away to become some kind of roadside bandit, for like an hour! It was the worst, John! The actual worst! Seriously, why would you do that to me?"

"Huh, well, that’s a hard question to answer. And maybe a little embarrassing," says John, sounding sheepish. He taps on the barrier in a specific way, then presses his palm against it as though to prove his identity. It vanishes. He walks into the cell, his hands in his pockets, swaggering like someone who just won the lottery. Vriska glares at him from where she sits.

“Get any closer and I bite your fucking ears off,” says Vriska.

“You can’t reach them,” he says, happily. His voice grows a little flatter, more serious. “Anyway… I did it because… < _I… think I’m in love with you?_ >”

What the fresh flying shit. Jade gestures at you like a bunch of spaghetti has started growing out of her palms and she’s horrified about it. Vriska has her head drawn so far back into her neck she has eight fucking chins. Her freaked out look does not stop John, who doesn’t appear to be paying all that much attention to what she’s doing, lost in his thoughts.

"Vriska, I think you're crazy, and awful, and mean, and a total megalomaniac, and sometimes I'm even convinced you're going to be the one to kill me one day," he says, with a sincere, calm voice. He can't look her in the eye. "But that's… thrilling, I guess? I… like it, I like figuring you out, you’re like… this great big evil mystery. Ha ha, um… That sounds weird. I also… I dunno, I sort of… I feel like I need you. Not just because you're so good at planning battles or ambushes or really good birthday parties, but because… I dunno. I can't let go of you. < _Every time I think about you I just get…_ >" He can’t explain his feeling, even in Common, so all he does is ball up his fists, real tight.

Jade’s ears are flicking you in the face like you’re a swarm of gnats. John thinks for a bit. Vriska’s expression only gets more alarmed. "< _I've never been in love before. It's supposed to be something like where you want to jump off a building to throw away your angelic status so you can have heart pounding, goopy sex in a lakeside cabin, right?_ >" he says. No, John, it's not. You read that book and even you thought it was dumb. "< _But, wow, I don't want any of that at all! In fact, I'd rather make *you* jump off that building. Not to give up your angelic status for me or anything, but just jump off a building. Um… that sounds bad when I say it, like don't actually jump off a building, this is just a metaphor, but do you get what I mean?_ >"

Vriska either does not get what he means or can't understand a word of his Common, because she's staring at him like he got possessed by The Vile God. But you and Jade sure as hell know what he said. You and Jade Fucking Glance At Each Other. A hardcore glance that has oodles of code and implications of subtext written into it. John looks up at the ceiling, thinking of a way to rephrase.

He moves to sit down next to her on the bench. Vriska makes no attempt to bite his ears off, but she scoots back towards the wall, away from him. He just scoots closer, quite calmly.

"Anyway, the reason I arrested you is because… Well, I think I can sum it up like this," He takes a deep breath. He reaches out for her, grabs her shoulders tight, locks eyes with her, and with all the drama of a heartfelt confession says, "Because I want you to know that, no matter what you do to me, _I’m always one step ahead._ "

An arrow to her heart. You watch Vriska's eyes swap from hearts to spades in a single moment.

You and Jade do not share A Glance because you are both way too invested. You both tug on each others arms though. 

Somebody who Vriska pitied because she thought he was a pushover Nice Guy has, without a question of doubt, proven he can be an equal match. You watch all the flaws that Vriska pitied him for resort themselves into flaws she hates him for. You watch her completely reassess her viewpoint of him in a hot second, all the bumbling incompetency she thought he displayed becoming less of an endearing trait and more of a massive source of frustration. How could she have fallen for that???????? How could she have been tricked???????? Shit. Quadrant fluctuation is a scary beast.

Vriska's voice quivers when she says, "I loathe you."

You and Jade grip each other's arms tighter. John blinks at her. Whatever he expected, it wasn't that. "Huh? I don't…"

"Did I fucking stutter!?" she yells, still shaking. "I loathe you!"

"Oh? This is that troll romance thing, right? I thought you pitied me. I never got that one."

"Well I just flipped quadrants, you dumbass! How do you feel about me?"

He stares at her, then scratches the back of his head. "I, well, like I said, I don’t know. I feel… um… sort of _angry,_ " he lets his gaze flicker down to her mouth. His voice goes quiet, you can barely hear it. "And you- you smell really good, Vriska."

She kisses him first. It’s a normal kiss for about half a millisecond before they push together and go at it like they’re trying to devour each other’s faces. John pulls back on Vriska’s horns, forcing her to bend into an uncomfortable position. Vriska strains against her bonds. John’s blood starts to trickle down his chin. 

This is a textbook kismesis, down to the fucking letter. This is the kind of shit outlined in your romance novels, the grand sweeping gestures of hate that shake the world. And it’s fucking _horrifying_. You and Eridan are nothing in comparison to this, you two are basically _best fucking friends_ compared to this. You confirm something about yourself when you see John and Vriska kiss, and it’s something that brings you a hell of a lot of relief.

You can't be in a kismesis. Oh, dear god, you cannot be in a kismesis. 

You decide it’s time to leave when John just fucking _rips_ Vriska’s shirt open down the middle. Jade just about barrels through the fucking wall to rage-auspice them. You yank her back and clap your hand over her mouth.

"What is with you and auspicing!?" you hiss. "Also, no, I am not letting you ruin a high quality moment with-" you smell Vriska’s pheremones from here, your lip curls. "-yeah, fuck this, they're going to pail and there is no amount you can pay me to see bruises form on Vriska’s ugly ass, we're leaving."

You basically have to hurl Jade ahead of you up the stairs, with your hand over her fucking mouth so she doesn’t yell about who-knows-what, until she just gives up the struggle and teleports the both of you out of there. You end up in her bedroom, where you finally let go of her.

“Why didn’t you let me stop them!?” she turns to you, yelling, pulling at her hair. “They looked like they were really going to hurt each other!”

“Because that was the literal definition of a kismesis, Jade! I’m not going to let you barge in and cockblock pure hate.”

“That’s not at all like what you and Eridan do!”

“That’s because I’m pretty sure I’m fucking terrible at hating people, Jade!”

Jade stops yelling all of a sudden, then blinks at you. “Oh. Well, you have a point, I guess. Um, but I really wish he wouldn’t have forgiven her so easily. It seemed super out of character for him, he doesn’t forgive grievous stuff like that so fast. And… there’s something else…”

She turns around, staring at the wall for a second, until she thinks of it. Her face goes deadpan flat, her arms go slack, and she spells it out for you.

“Our mom just died and he’s fucking her murderer in a jail cell,” says Jade, monotone. She smacks her hand against her face, and says, angrier. “Our mom just _died_ and he’s fucking _her murderer_ in a jail cell.” She whips around, slaps her hands to your cheeks, presses them together, and whispers, manic, “Our mom! Just! Died! And he’s fucking! Her! Murderer! In a jail cell!” 

Well, technically, both murderers are fucking each other in a jail cell, which might be worse. But you’re not going to drop that bomb on her right now. It’d blow her fucking brains out her ears. “You know, maybe you’re right,” you say through squished lips. “Fucker’s flipped to chaotic evil.”

“< _I’m going to kill him,_ >” growls Jade, and she steps away from you, sliding a hand through her hair. “< _I’m going to tell Feferi and there’s no way she’s down with this and we’re both going to kill him, oh my gosh. But, ugh, I don’t know when I’m going to see her next and I have to go meet Eridan and kick off this stupid party because we have to pretend everything’s fine and… I need a drink._ >”

“You know what? Fuck it. Yes,” you say. “It’s eight AM and I could not give less of a shit. Let’s get _wasted_.”

On the way to the main hall, the one with all the windows, Jade tells you that John and Feferi plan on revealing the new orders of ascension tomorrow morning, when everyone’s nice and hungover. You suppose it’s smart, since any hardcore loyalists might be too sick to immediately launch an attack on the new Empress. The tricky thing will be hiding the fact that notorious party girl Condy is dead and buried.

There’s a breakfast bar set up just inside the main hall, where a few stragglers are putting together some breakfast tacos. You don’t really feel like eating right now. Jade grabs a cup of coffee and begins spiking it with the bottles set out at the edge of the table.

There’s also a table to stack wedding presents, in the way back of the room where the shrine was. Oh, shit, you technically have a wedding present for her, don’t you? You totally fucking forgot about it like, a day after you got here, with all the excitement going on. You’ll have to give it to her at a time where you’re not running on about six tons of adrenaline. 

The concept of wedding presents also reminds you of something. You turn to Jade, who’s angrily filling her coffee cup up to the brim with a bottle of expensive whiskey.

“Hey, Jade, do you think John could… annul the marriage? Like, there’s no reason for you to stay married anymore, right? John and Feferi are going to be in charge now, and they don’t give a fuck about you and Eridan.” 

"Oh!" says Jade, pleasantly surprised at the idea. "You know what? I don't know. But I'm sure he could. After he’s done < _FUCKING OUR MOM’S MURDERER IN A JAIL CELL!_ >"

You look around, nervously, while yelling “Shhhhh!” at her. There’s maybe about five early risers in the room, all of them trolls. “God, okay, shit, I’ll ask him for you next chance I get. He owes me.”

“Yeah he does,” says Jade, angrily sipping her coffee. “He owes me, too.”

You find Eridan easy, he’s at the edge of the room near the window, lounging on one of those black couches, green military outfit newly pressed and pristine. You could barely tell he was in a cave just a little while ago. You get a little queasy: even though it’s only been a couple days, he literally killed you, and you’ve learned that a destined kismesis just isn’t for you, breakups are still hard. 

"Hey, Kar’," says Eridan, nodding when the two of you reach him. You stand in front of him. He sips at his own coffee. He looks the same as ever, he's the least shaken up of all of those involved in 'the plot' thus far. "Sorry for killin' ya, like I said, nothin' personal."

"Not forgiven," you say. You sigh. You hate doing stuff like this. "Consider any beautiful blossoming kismesis we had nipped at the bud, it's over."

Eridan looks at you like you're too far away to see clearly, then bursts into this sputtering laugh. "What? Seriously? What the fuck did you think we were? Kar’, it'd never work out even if we were in a quad. You know why?"

Not really a reaction you expected, but it's better than breaking his heart. "Uh, my theory still holds that I can't maintain hatred for anyone for long periods of time?" you venture.

"Might put a damper on things, but nah, try again."

"Um, because your relationship was entirely based around me?" says Jade, pointing at herself. "So since we already boned all the magic's gone, because now we're all clear on how everybody feels about everybody else?"

That's a pretty good guess, you hate to admit. You think your jealousy vanished instantaneously after you all had a ridiculous threesome. You and Jade still love each other, Jade is still ‘meh’ on Eridan, and Eridan is —you think— still ‘meh’ on the both of you. The fuck probably just wanted to get laid, which, well, who would blame him? You two are hot. 

Eridan holds up his coffee cup like he's toasting to her. "Nah, that wouldn't stop me." He takes a sip of it before answering. "We'd never work out because I _like_ you, Kar'. You're fuckin’ hilarious. Whenever you're around, you temporarily reprieve me of the dismal state of nightmarish existence I wander around in. You'd make a terrible kismesis."

People tell you this all the time and you don't understand it. You have no fucking idea why your abrasive personality makes you so endearing. Your lifelong theory's been confirmed: you're forever doomed to never fill your black romance quadrants beyond an occasional casual affair that directly speaks to your poor impulse control. You think you’re fine with that.

"But he makes a good friend, right?" says Jade, grinning and hugging you around the shoulders, like she's showing you off.

"Friends are kinda hard to find in this climate," says Eridan, raising an eyebrow.

"Stuff it up your ass," you say. "I'll be your fucking friend, no strings attached. Not everyone's got a motive."

"Must be nice to think that way," he says. He takes another sip, then shudders. It's probably spiked coffee, although you don't know how he can stomach it without cream. "I got strings threaded through my goddamn skin, can't seem to get them out. Kinda gets lonely like that."

He snaps his head up, half-grinning in the way that he did whenever he'd bring up Jade to get you angry. "Speakin' of stringin’ me up, if you’re ever feelin’ like fuckin’ someone half to death, or hell, all the way, you know who to call. Hey, you know what they say about necromancers, they-"

"We’re not necrophiliacs," you and Jade both reply at the same time, in a deadpan monotone voice. You know the drill, no kink-shaming and all, but… yeeuuugh. Jade continues with, "And that doesn't seem like a very healthy desire, Eridan!"

He shrugs. “I’m a pain lovin’ narcissist who likes the attention.”

You facepalm. What this fuck needs is a moirail to stop him from doing dumb shit like that and you’re sure as hell not going to fill that position. Well… maybe. Eridan sets his coffee cup down on the flat part of the couch, then stands up, straightening his outfit.

"Hey, Eridan," says Jade. "Karkat's going to ask John to try to get the marriage annulled, since there's like, no reason to stay married anymore."

Eridan's face doesn't change, he's just stuck in that plain semi-grumpy look. His voice is flat when he says, "He's not gonna. The Empress won’t do it either."

You fold your arms. "Look, just because you're an enlarged egomaniac who's on the quest for a 'hot wife' doesn't mean everyone else is sympathetic to your cause."

Eridan sneers. "No, by all means, try annulling the damn thing. But there's no way the Patrician's going to do it. The guy's a moron but he’s at least semi-aware of what’s going on around him, unlike you two."

"Why the hell wouldn't he do it?" you ask.

"It's obvious. Take a step back and think about it for two fuckin’ seconds."

"It's not obvious! What are you talking about?" says Jade, putting her hands on her hips.

Eridan groans. "This is why I could stab Karkat in the chest at random."

You're not sure what that means.

Jade’s essentially stuck with Eridan in this main hall area for the rest of the fucking day, forced to give speeches and kiss him and whatnot when people clink their glasses, which you expect will get more slurred and bizarre as the day-long booze-fueled rage-fest progresses. You want to see John right away, but he might not be… done, yet. Eugh, don’t think about it. You kind of want to get both the authorization for your knight binding and the marriage annulment as a two-for-one surprise so you can at least… distract Jade a bit. Although the copious amounts of alcohol might be enough of a distraction by themselves. But you decide you should probably eat first, and force Jade to eat something too before she drinks herself to death. 

You hand-feed her breakfast tacos.


	21. Egg Coffee

Jade suggests trying to find John in "the office" but you're not sure where or what that is and Jade gives you some frankly absurd directions (turn left at the painting that looks like a dragon if you squint at it), so it takes you quite some time to find it on your own. You make a pit stop to change and clean yourself up, considering you had a threesome and then died in the same outfit in the span of roughly twelve hours. Your clothing was in an ineffable state of disgusting. You grab Jade’s gift for her while you’re there and shove it in one of your pockets.

"The office" ends up being the Patrician’s office. The door of it is covered in spells that glow and swarm across the frame and handle. You figure they’re either alarms or keep-everyone-out spells (even Feferi?). You don’t care, you just fucking ignore them and slide the door open without knocking. The interior is… pretty much just a normal office, albeit with incredibly fancy old wood furniture: a couch and coffee table in the front, a big ass desk and chair in the back, a window looking out onto a morning snowstorm behind that, a shit ton of ceiling-high cabinets with books on the left hand wall, and some doors to some other rooms. For some reason, there's a small doorless kitchen in a cranny on the right hand wall, containing a couple cupboards and a counter for doing alchemic pot heating tricks. There’s also a little two person table with stools shoved in there.

You're freaked out he's going to turn you away. You don't know why, maybe because he's technically the Patrician now and you expect him to be too busy for common folk like you. You’re sure he’s probably up to incomprehensibly important things that decide the fate of the universe.

Anyway, you greatly overestimated him. He’s cooking in the little kitchen. Oh, god, he’s…

He looks over his shoulder at you, happy as ever. “Hi Karkat! I knew it was you since the door let you in. Also, you dick, I’m going to have to recast all those. Anyway come over and sit down!”

He gestures towards the table behind him, then turns back to whatever fuckery he’s performing. You’re too stupefied to say anything else. Too dumbstruck to do shit. You’re fucking _horrified_. You sit down at the table, plant your elbows on it, and silently scream.

YouCan'tFuckJohnEgbertYouCan'tFuckJohnEgbertYouCan'tFuckJohnEgbertYouCan'tFuckJohnEgbertYouCan'tFuckJohnEgbertYouCan'tFuckJohnEgbertYouCan'tFuckJohnEgbertYouCan'tFuckJohnEgbert.

After your brain manages to overcome the hurdles of “wet glistening back muscles” and “tight ass tight pants” you notice how fucked up his hands are. The thing that saves you from openly salivating and making a fool of yourself is that somebody already took a bite out of that savory hunk of human meat. Many gross, disgusting bites. Thoughts of Vriska Serket are probably the most effective boner killers that ever existed on the face of this planet. You're baffled by his hands. What the fuck was he trying to do with her mouth, and why did she bite him literally nowhere else? Actually, it's probably best not to think about it.

He obnoxiously licks condensed milk off his thumb. The fluid might not be red, but it’s still about the hottest cooking related thing you’ve ever seen with your own two eyes. Gods, fuck, you should probably say something so you’re not sweltering in lust this whole time.

"Are you making…" you stare at the ingredients, you stare at his ass. "… cheesecake?"

“No way, I don’t eat cake normally, much less for breakfast! That’d be super weird.” He laughs. “I’m making coffee, do you want any?”

What the shit. You see he’s pressing coffee, but it’s such a small amount you figured it was added flavoring for… whatever.

“Uh, sure,” you say, watching him levitate two clear glass cups and saucers from the cupboard. Since he does it with wind magic, it looks like they’re going to go careening into the wall before they land on the counter at the last second. “I didn’t know you could cook, I thought you’d have random servants do all the pleb work.”

“Ah, yeah, it’s kind of a hobby. I got it from both my- well, my dad,” he says. He lets the eggs fall to the counter, cracking the shells, then separates the yolks midair without spilling a drop. Everything gets thrown in the levitating saucepan, plus some heaping tablespoons of sugar. “Sorry for being in a weird state of undress, by the way. I just took a bath. I can go put a shirt on right now.” 

"You don’t have to,” you squeak out.

John stops what he’s doing to turn around and roll his eyes at you. “Woooooooow, Karkat. You’re _still_ into me? It’s been sweeps! What ever will Jade think!” He says it jokingly, apparently not even _he_ thinks you have it in you to mess around with Jade’s brother. Which you straight up fucking don’t, even if she hypothetically agreed to said bullshittery with something truly inane like, ‘we always used to share our toys as kids!’ Yeah, no, he might be a ripe beefsteak tomato but it’s still not happening. (But maybe if you were sandwiched in-between them— hnnggggh, don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it).

You have to get him back for this. Revenge is a dish best served… half-naked.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m just… fuck, uh, fascinated by that bruised-pale-skin aesthetic? Whatever. What happened to your hands?” you ask, knowing damn well what happened to his fucking hands.

John grins blankly at you. “Mmmmmmmmmmm- fisticuffs?” he says, in a very high pitched tone. Yeah, that’s right, how’s it feel, John? He snaps back into a totally innocent look immediately afterwards. "Sorry, it’s sort of gross, isn’t it? I should find a healer. Ah, how's my Alternian by the way? I need to practice and actually put like, some effort in now."

It's a lot better than usual. Respectable, even. He's been hitting most of the accent right, with a bit of a high-bred seadweller warble, none of the grammar or vocab is awkward, and- hey, fuck him, he's deflecting you from asking about the bites by appealing to one of your favorite things to nitpick. Whatever, you'll pretend to fall for it, since you know where they came from anyway.

"The roll is more in the back of the throat, like-" you demonstrate. John copies you. "Anyway I'm not here to espouse my legendary linguistic teachings, nor am I here to ogle you while drinking liquid egg juice, I'm actually here to talk to you about something."

“Oh! You probably want your adoubement papers, right? For you and Jade? I’ll do it right now!” His wet hair lifts in a wind that only wraps around him, and a drawer in the desk slams open. Papers flutter out in a seemingly chaotic tornado, slide onto the desk, and a pen floats out from a holster to sign and write on the papers. It's not as orderly as necromancy, since he's using wind magic to do it, but you're impressed by his level of control with what is essentially random gusts of air. “Make sure to invite me to the ceremony, I can’t wait to see you two all happy.”

You watch the pens skim across the pages, John turns back to his coffee making. “Thanks bunches, I guess, but no, that’s not what I came for,” you say. “I came to ask another favor of you, because I’m just fucking full of them and you’ve let loose the geyser of shit you owe me.”

Just for a second, all the pens and papers on the desk stop moving. They pick right back up again. 

“Well, all right, but let me put a shirt on first,” John says. He pours the coffee at the bottom of the cups, then dumps the yellow egg-cream stuff on top. He pulls out two small spoons from the drawer and sets them on the saucers. All the wind magic ceases, the fire goes out, the pot slams down onto the counter. John steps back and towels off his hair. “I don’t want you to troll-Freudian slip and make the favor something scandalous!”

You bury your head in your hands in shame. John laughs and pats you on the shoulder as he walks by you, presumably to grab a shirt. 

You look up when he comes back to set a cup of mystery coffee egg drink in front of you. He changed into a black shirt with black dress gloves, probably to hide any blood that might ooze through, the kinky fuck.

Instead of sitting across from you like a normal fucking person, he literally moves the barstool so he can sit next to you on the adjacent edge of the table. You think you’re bumping knees, but joke’s on him because that’s your fake knee. He always did this personal space invading shit in the past, too. Speaking of which, you haven’t had a one on one talk with John since you were… fuck, 9 sweeps, maybe? You used to be damn good friends, but when you fell out of favor with the Empire you sort of vanished off his radar.

John smiles, mixing up the cream and coffee in his glass with the little spoon. All the binding papers flying around in the main part of the office go still, either he’s finished or he wants to pay full attention to you. “So, what’s up?” he asks.

You just blurt it out. "I want Jade and Eridan's marriage annulled."

John's smile disappears. “Um…” he says, and that’s all you have to hear. Your heart sinks twenty levels. You damn well know that by being all hesitant, he’s not going to fucking do it. Eridan guessed correctly. “… Right away?”

You cannot fucking believe John is skimping out on this one. You don't care how much stress he's under, you don't care what stage of grief he's in, you don't care what reasons he has, he _saw_ how upset she was to get married, he _knows_ she hates this, he's her brother and he loves her, so he shouldn't push it aside. You get pissed.

“Yes, right a-fucking-way,” you spit out.

John grimaces and tugs at the collar of his shirt. "I feel so bad about this, but I can't do that right now. Can she wait a little while? I mean, Eridan won’t force Jade to go to all that many political fiascoes now, since the Condesce is gone. So it's really not that big of a deal-"

“It is that big of a deal!” you yell. You have to restrain yourself from reaching out and grabbing his shoulders. “Even if you don’t give a shit, you love your sister! I can’t believe I have to remind you of this! Don’t you fucking care about her at all!?”

John finally snaps. Fucking finally.

"It's either her or Feferi, Karkat!" he yells, his eyes wide, all the stress that built up over the course of the morning flooding through his shaking voice. "It's either her or Alternia! She has to stay married, and you've gotta be there too! Yeah, I'm shoving her under a speeding carriage, I'm sorry, I have to!"

Dammit, this is just another plot, isn't it? Jade's just a tool. And you too. You slam your fist on the table so hard some cream sloshes out the sides of the cups. "Alright, what fucking piece in this shit tier of a game am I this time? I'm not the two big players, you're the queen, Feferi's the king, but hey, maybe I'm a castle!? Maybe I'm the horse one that goes in the L shape!? What's Jade, is she the priest!? Or is she of so little importance to you that she's one of those sacrificial pawns, huh!?"

You're so mad you almost miss it: he opens his mouth to argue right back at you, to no doubt try to convince you that 'i realllllyyy love jade i proooomise' but his eyes lose their fire and his body loses his tension and you watch him shove everything out of the way, every mental process, everything, in order to answer you. And just like that, normal human John emotions, gone. Obliterated.

“Well, uh, you can be one of the little horse-shaped ones if you want, I guess," he says, with a calm voice and a neutral face. He crosses his legs, reaches over, and takes a sip from his coffee, with perfect precision. “I guess it’s best if I tell you the truth, huh? What’s happening is that we don’t trust Eridan. He could turn against us and buddy up to Meenah. Him and Feferi have some weird backstory thing going on, I dunno the details, but he's definitely killed her a couple of times. She says he’s a friend, but she’s really assuming a lot! So there’s no loyalty there. He’s also got way different ideals than both of us, so that’s another shaky leg. On top of all that, at the first sign of trouble he was ready to face-heel turn and hop on over to Meenah. _You_ were our saving grace, and even then, I don't think he would have handed you to us if Dave and Rose hadn't saved the day."

You can’t help yourself from drawing connections. Eridan’s got a hell of a navy at his command, and if he carted that all to Meenah it’d just be another tool to smear Feferi’s face in the dirt with. If Jade's got joint control over that navy, Eridan can't defect. He can try to sneak behind your backs, but if Jade notices, hell yeah she's going to try to wrestle command away and stop Eridan. Jade has to stay married to him in order to give John and Feferi an advantage. You hate this, you hate that you're even considering this, that you're playing this game, that you're seeing his side.

When he sets the coffee cup back down, his hand is shaking again. The glass clatters on the saucer.

"And he- he likes you guys," says John, his face growing pale. "You can see it all over him, when he talks to you. So I thought, hey, let them be friends or whatever, so he won't try to help that other crazy heir because he finally cares about somebody, and then he's not going to turn against _their_ friends and family and maybe we wouldn’t have to force his hand anymore. Does… that make sense, Karkat?"

You notice he’s sort of… collapsing. Jade's right, he looks like he's going to break at any moment. If you were in a gentler mood, you probably would have touched his shoulder here, invaded in on Feferi’s pale space. But you fold your arms, give him a glare, and say, “There’s no way pulling on people’s friendship threads is the ‘right thing to do,’ John. If you love Jade, think of something else. Invent some other bullshit, make yourself another choice.”

“I can’t think of anything,” he says, his voice quivering, but you don’t think he notices. "And I'm pretty inventive! But sometimes there isn't a third way out, Karkat, sometimes I've got two options to pick from and they both stink but I've got to suck it up and make the choice that hurts the least people."

The way he’s moving, how he’s cracking, is draining the anger right out of you. It’s too sad to be mad at, too pathetic to throw anger at. John isn't meant to be a puppetmaster. John isn't meant to tug the strings on all his friendships, to roll the dice in a brutal environment, to toy with Vriska. John put every goddamn part of him aside because it's 'the right thing to do' and right thing or not it's going to wreck him. You're not sure how you can patch him back together. But you know how you can make him realize he's falling apart.

“Alright, fine,” you growl. “Forget it. Forget I fucking asked, oh great ruler who is so much wiser than my pathetic self. But I’m going to tell you something that I don’t think you want to hear. Consider it my revenge for fucking over Jade.”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to tell him. He looks genuinely concerned.

You're going to put it in a way where he can't willfully misunderstand this shit. Which means you have to be gentle, you can't just be like 'hey I know you killed your own fucking mother so you could assume the throne, you asshole,' as much as you’d like to. John can't have one of those deflecting kneejerk reactions to anything.

"John, I know you felt you needed to be the Patrician," you say. "And I know you let Vriska do what she did."

John looks frightened, all of a sudden. Not like he's afraid you're going to betray him or anything, but more like the kind of fear you get before journeying into a scary dark cave. "What gave you that idea?"

"You told me so," you say. "Or, well, a beta John did. Before he had me kill him to hide the evidence."

"Um, that doesn't sound like something I would do." John bites his lip, suddenly finding the coffee cup very interesting. "I don't want to talk about this, anyway."

"I don't give a shit, you need to hear it," you say, getting angrier. "Because if no one calls you out on it, hot damn, you are well on your way to becoming your mother with a shiny new coat of paint slapped on."

You pushed too hard. That's what gets under his skin, that's what gets him to that knee-jerk point. He whips his arms up, and he has some sort of spell forming in his palm. You lash out, grab his hand, and the spell snuffs out at your touch. You wrap your fingers tight around his and hold fast, and you know his hands are too fucked up for him to give any serious effort into pulling away from you.

“I’m not going to tell you if that was the right choice or not,” you hiss at him. You ignore his wince. “I have no fucking clue what relationships or politics were at work to make you feel the only choice was to murder someone I think you loved and acquire a job I’m _pretty fucking sure_ you don’t really want for yourself. But you can damn well bet I’m going to judge what you’re doing now, you massive dick.”

He opens his mouth to respond, maybe to yell, but he decides against it. He narrows his eyes, to listen. Good.

"Look at you, you're trying to act like some benevolent sociopath," you continue. "Manipulating shit, tiering your friends and family based on importance, playing games with Vriska just so you can fucking distract yourself and not fall into manic depression. But you're not made for these things, John. I don't think you know you're not made for them. If you keep this shit up, it's going to eat you alive."

He gives you a very hard stare, even through his gloves you feel his hand is much cooler than yours. You watch him think through what you just said, hopefully really thinking and not just glancing it off. 

“You know,” he eventually says, very calm. “Not a lot of people are brave enough to say that kind of stuff to the Patrician. Not like you, Karkat. I wish I was that brave.”

He makes this sighing noise, like he's about to fall asleep, and then slips forward, bending at the waist, letting his head gently hit the table. You let go of his hand, but you keep it nearby his, just in case.

You don't say a fucking word. You let him have a nice, hard think about his actions. Finally.

He doesn't cry or panic or anything, just sits there, taking deep breaths, for some time. You watch the coffee steam in the air, still hot.

"Meenah’s wrong," he whispers. "You'd make a shitty general, but a great adviser. I thought about it a lot. You'd say yes if I asked, right?"

You would have to say yes, you can’t abandon him to get eaten up and destroyed from the inside out. “You know we won’t leave you.”

"I know. But it wouldn't make you happy, would it?" he says, and he sits back up. He's smiling again, but it's not a normal John grin, it's one of the sad, melancholic ones just dripping with heartache. "You and Jade both want off this dumb politics ride. So… I think that's my compromise."

He leans back, stares up at the ceiling. "Go back to your adventures, and your badass fantasy fights, and go back to riding on Jade’s weird dog some more. Do all that mushy lovey-dovey stuff I know you like. Go on, like, 700 romantic dinner dates on a gondola. Go hang out with Rose and Dave and Terezi and give them some sweet fistbumps for me. Go to the parties Eridan brings Jade to, but I think you guys should say no to the ones you can't pull some good pranks at, or the ones that don't have music, or the ones where you don't get an outfit that makes you look like a super romantic knight in shining armor like in your books."

You clench your fists. You can't leave him. He needs support, he needs friends that love him unconditionally, needs more than just Feferi to trust. "You can’t just… toss me out of this political drama. I’m involved. I care too fucking much," you say. "I can’t leave. Not like this."

"Well, that's too gosh darn bad," says John, grinning again. He leans towards you against the table. "Because I'm the Patrician, and I get what I want. And what I want is for you to have fun out there, even if you don't move in a perfect little L-shape every time."

You start getting angry again. “Are you serious? Shut up. I’ll be your fucking adviser, I’ll bury my head in government, I’ll goddamn do it.”

"Nope! If you want to be all dumb and self-sacrificial about it, then I guess I'll just _have_ to make an official order! You're under human jurisdiction you know." He puts on this fake-pompous voice. "'Karkat Vantas _cannot_ be the Patrician's adviser, or come within ten yards of the Patrician for a whole year! After that he's free to whine or say whatever about it and maybe the Patrician will reconsider. The Patrician orders Karkat Vantas to have fun, dammit.' See? Easy."

You hate this. You hate that he’s doing this to himself, to you. You have a flashback to when you were an adolescent and had a black crush on him. But he’s not on your level anymore, he’s somewhere in the fucking stratosphere, he could probably shatter you without a thought. “I don’t care, if you put that shit into law, I’m going to bust through that restraining order and-”

“Bluh bluh, I have like a billion legal processes set up to make that not possible, so shhhhhh, don’t make me actually put them into place, no more arguing,” he says, happily. He doesn’t let you keep fighting. You’re not sure if you could say anything to convince him otherwise. 

You try, desperately, to think of something that will convince him to let you be a part of his political life so he won't fucking break apart without you, but you can’t think of anything. You come up blank. He seems to notice.

John smiles at you, gently. “Hey, this table is kind of uncomfortable, isn’t it? Let’s move over to the couch.”

You make a frustrated, strangled noise at how he’s beating you to the punch at everything, and follow him over to the couch with your coffee in tow. You settle in next to him. It’s comfier than it looks.

You finally sip at your coffee. It’s just right, temperature-wise, you waited the perfect amount of time to drink it. It's sugared and foamy, luscious, John apparently knows what he’s doing. You've got enough unwanted energy for ten thousand cups of pure caffeine, so you're not a huge coffee drinker, but even _you_ have to admit there's something special about sharing a good cup o’ joe with a friend (albeit a friend who you’re sort of mad at) in the morning. 

You turn to John to begrudgingly tell him it’s good. But you’re unable to do so when you see what he’s doing. Your reaction, dripping with a horrible form of pity you thought you’d long abandoned, comes out before you can stop it.

“Gods, John…” you whisper, horrified.

He’s crying. Slow, quiet tears drip down his hollow, zoned-out expression, land on his shirt. His eyes have this thousand yard stare that came out of nowhere, eyes that are going to haunt you for a long time past this. Your stomach knots up, you can’t finish your statement.

"I'm sorry," says John, snapping up to smile at you, taking off his glasses to rub his tears away. "I’ve had… the weirdest morning."

Yeah he did, he either personally or indirectly killed three people and then hate-fucked one of them in the span of like, three hours. And then just got berated by you for it. You don't care how genius he is at bottling up feelings, you don't care if he's the DIY organizing king of shoving feelings in boxes with cute crafty chalkboard labels, of course it's going to fuck him up. You don't tell him this, you think he knows.

You wish you could hold him together, you wish it so bad. You set your coffee down. You twist towards him, then spread your arms for him. “C’mere.”

He hugs you like Jade when she’s sad, all sudden and desperate, clinging like you’re the fucking liferaft in their ocean. He slams his head into your shoulder and just fucking bawls. Your shirt gets soaked instantly, the cloth stretches from how he’s gripping your back. You hold him that much closer, hold him through all the gasping and sobbing. Good fucking Lord you wish he wasn't taken right now, you'd love to go further. You'd stroke back his hair and shoosh him and kiss his knuckles and wipe his tears away. But you've got scruples to uphold, goddammit, you’re not going to be a homewrecker. Just a hug will suffice.

"I’m so sorry Karkat," he chokes out, with an intense, melting voice that sounds like a love confession. "< _I haven't cried in years._ >"

Well, hopefully it'll suffice. The boy's a mess. Feferi's got her hands full, when he lets her in. You hug him tighter.

********

You leave him after his eyes aren’t quite as red, after you feel he’s safe with himself. You leave after you finish the frankly delicious monstrosity he made for you, and well after he finishes his. You leave with the binding papers in hand after he stamps them with his new seal— the blank black shield of his family with curvy wings of wind around them, a motto in an old human language you don’t know underneath it all. You leave him sitting at the desk with his feet kicked up on top of it in a way that his mother never, ever would have done. You leave him after making him promise he’s going to show up to the party (late afternoon, he says). You leave him staring up at the ceiling, looking at peace with himself. You look back at him one more time before stepping out the door.

“Don’t worry, Karkat,” he calls out to you, with a grin. “I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

All the spells pop up again on the door the instant you shut it behind you.

********

There’s more people in the main hall now, not enough to call it a party, but enough to call it a well-attended luncheon. You find Jade talking to the younger seadweller matron, about how great Feferi is. Gods, Feferi must have cleared this ascension shit with everyone she could for… perigrees, at least. Charmed her way up the ladder in preparation for whenever she’d have the chance to pull a coup. You still don’t think she’s ready, but you agree with Vriska, she at least knows all the academic stuff.

You approach the two as polite and non-abrasive as you can. You give a respectful nod to the seadweller. “Hey,” you say to Jade. “Can I pull you away for a bit?”

She agrees and says her goodbyes to the matron. You take her into the hall, then into another hall, and another and another until you’re well and good and alone. You hold her hand and face her, her back to the wall. For all her talk of getting wasted, she still seems pretty sober. Thank fuck.

"< _Well,_ >" she grins, and her smile is so sleepy and you want nothing more than to bring her to bed and nap with her for twenty hours straight. "< _How’d it go?_ >" 

You have a million things to say, ‘So John’s fucking losing it,’ 'You can finally, legally, be my witch,' 'John definitely killed your mom on purpose,' 'I have something for you that I've been waiting to give you since like fucking Porkmor-Kahn,' 'John still won’t annul your fucking sham of a marriage because Eridan is legendary levels of backstabby.' But you're tired and she’s so damn pretty and you don't want to think about John anymore so you decide to just stick with the gentler things. The more intense shit, that can wait for the ride out of Skalligre, when you’ve got time to talk between the two of you, to lie on top of each other and discuss and just half-nap after this whole mess. She’d better be able to get a private carriage, goddammit.

You pull the rolled up papers out of your obi, with John’s seal on them. “< _I got permission from your human broodmate. So I know you’re probably partied-out by now, but at least I can ask the question, no matter when we decide to have a ceremony. Be my witch, moon and stars?_ >”

You didn’t ask it romantically, or at least you don’t think you did, you’re too emotionally exhausted to tell. She giggles, looking perfectly content for the first time this morning. Your chest gets all tight and filled with butterflies at her smile. “< _You don’t need to ask twice, knight of mine._ >”

It’s nice to get it confirmed, to hold in your hands the thing the two of you wanted all this time. The thing you both promised each other, that you both worked so hard for. You start smiling, you can’t help yourself. You figure this is a poetically appropriate time to give her the gift you’ve been carting around since the fucking beginning of this stupid ass adventure. “Speaking of which, I have something for you,” you say, digging in your pocket for it.

She looks surprised. “< _Oh, I forgot, you did have something for me, didn’t you? What is it?_ >”

"< _Wedding present, from me to you,_ >" you say. "< _That's what you do at these things, right? Exchange gifts like you're the tree at peregree's eve and I'm the material wealth delivery lusus?_ >"

You figure she must be real fucking tired too because she doesn't bat an eye at your Alternian cultural reference. "< _Oh, Karkat, you didn't have to._ >"

You grab it between your thumb and pointer finger. "< _Hold out your hand._ >"

She holds it out the wrong way up, and you gently take her by her fingers and rotate her wrist so her knuckles are facing you. You slip the ring on her right hand ring finger.

“Look, I know it’s not tradition, usually only the knight’s got the seal ring,” you say, adjusting it on her. You’re glad it seems to fit right. You get embarrassed all of a sudden, nervous, your face gets hot. “But I figured… Fuck, I don’t know, I thought you’d like it.”

It’s something simple— she’s never been big on jewelry. It’s just a plain silver band, but it’s got your so-called “bloody cut” symbol engraved on it in black. Jade is looking at it, shocked, and you can’t tell if it’s a good kind of shocked or a bad kind of shocked until she bites down on her lip to avoid bursting into a slew of visible emotions.

She leaps onto you, and you aren’t at all ready to receive an enthused-Jade-Harley-hug so you almost fall backwards onto your ass. But she holds you steady with her gorgeous rippling beefcake muscles that John could not possibly hope to match in sheer sexiness, and kisses your face and tells you “yes” over and over and over, and even after all the shit you’ve been through, after all you’ve had to do, it’s impossible _not_ to be happy in her arms. She holds you tight and picks you up off your feet a few inches, and you really hope no one’s watching, because you are laughing in the most embarrassing way.

You stop laughing when she kisses you, and you push her up against the wall, and everything is about _her_ and you love her so fucking much you are ready to just pail her in the goddamn hallway, embarrassment be damned, the fact that you’re probably sexed out from the debacle last night be dammed too. Everything’s gone from your head, all your worries, all your fears and nervousness about the future, because you might not have all that stable or sane of a life but you at least have Jade. You’ll always, always have Jade.

She stops you when you’re trying to push her clothes up her legs, because it’s seriously not working with the fishtail dress. Her thighs are too delightfully thick. 

“Okay,” she pants, leaning against the wall, breathing into your ear in a way that makes you shiver. “As much as I’d love to have public sex in a hallway, because haha, wow, um, I don’t think I can…”

You’re pressed tight to her, so you back away from her a little, to look at her. She looks a little ashamed of herself. You have to take a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself down before asking, “Can…?”

“Um, well, I know you were joking when you said you’d ‘penetrate me so thoroughly I wouldn’t be able to walk for two days,’” she says, biting her lip. “But… that wasn’t… too far off…”

You can’t help yourself, that’s the funniest shit you’ve ever heard. You lean forward again, hide your laughter in her shoulder as she wraps her arms around you and starts laughing too. You can’t resist, you lean forward, then pluck her up and heft her over her shoulder, like you’re carrying a sack of potatoes. Or, you know, like you’re kidnapping a bride.

She shrieks, hits your back with light fists, giggles out, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you back to the party to show you off,” you say, carting her down the hallway, a big stupid grin on your face.

“Good idea!” she says, happily. “I’m showing everybody this ring, I love it so much! Oh my gosh, I have to show Rose and Dave first! They’re going to lose it!”

You know, they probably will. Only one way to find out.

You’re happy, despite everything. You’re happy as you carry her back to the party, ready to stay at her side the rest of the day and night. Because while you might not have done everything correctly, while you might not have been able to fix everything, you at least managed to get one thing right. 

Her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay that finishes off all the pre-written chapters I have! Epilogue will take a while to produce, hang on tight.


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Today’s your big day! Soon you will be able to serve the Empress or the Patrician, depending on your species, and further the safety of our tenuous peace treaty! You’ve managed to strike lucky and find the perfect magic user to bond with, your tank to their DPS, and together you will form a party in holy fantasy matrimony to take down rare elite creatures and raid instances forever and ever._
> 
> (((content warning for… wax play)))

Karkat is looking up at you like he’s going to start crying.

It’s so sweet and special and intimate and _yes_. You think you might burst into a big pile of Jade confetti by the end of tonight just from all these looks he’s been giving you. Today is literally the best day ever.

The human priest, from the back altar, continues reading the concluding parts of the sort-of-silly abdoubement vows.

“Giue him the necke stroke of kyghthood, and wysh hym be fylled with Dygnyty & Sagenesse & Dyscretenesse &-”

You’re so glad you had to memorize these way back when you were a pre-teen, because you’d be laughing your butt off if this was the first time you’d heard it. You thought you'd be laughing a little anyway, but um, Karkat’s been taking this _extremely_ seriously. You’re not going to crush his buzz by giggling. You’re taking it seriously too, but no matter how deep and meaningful this is to you, the accent is still a little funny.

You follow instructions, taking the very blunt shotel from Karkat and tapping him on each side of his neck with it three times. The priest continues with the 'knyght espyrytuel,' talking about ‘justyce & chyualry’ and whatnot.

There’s three traditional parts to the bonding ceremony: a court ceremony, a church ceremony, and a battlefield ceremony. The court ceremony, over the centuries, has pretty much devolved into ‘getting a fancy piece of paper from the government,’ so if the knight and witch get in a spat there’s some legal precedence set up. The church ceremony is what you’re in now, a kind of ‘no-backsies’ thing where the gods punish you if you backpedal on your vows. The battlefield ceremony is tomorrow, and it’s pretty much a big party! The only battle that will be happening there is the battle of Karkat’s eternal struggle with mixed drinks. 

Out of the three, this is the most private and intimate one. There’s both a human priest and a jade blooded officiator, but other than that, you’re alone and locked in a big old pan-deity church on the human side of Porkmor-Kahn. You’re nearly to the end of the vows. But the best part of the church ceremony is yet to come.

You point the sword at his neck, the blunt tip of it just barely scraping his skin. He’s trembling a little, looking up at you like you’re the moon and all the stars in the sky. His mouth parts, he licks his lower lip, and he begins to recite his final, meaningful verses of the church ceremony.

“Under the watchful gaze of her Death patrons I begin my dedication. I, blood child of the Secret God, hereby swear myself to the service of-” oh, Karkat hasn’t said your full title in years. He stares you down as he carefully rattles off your name. “-Royal Necromancer Ingiesh Minores Ijadea ul bint Crocker sin al Bequierel Harley,-” 

“Oh my gosh, Karkat,” you whisper very softly, grinning. “You pronounced everything right! With the Iye-ea-da and everything.”

Karkat flushes, then mumbles out a, “Shutupkeepgoing” before continuing with, “-and will clear her path at her command, will steer her to right, and will guard her until her gods claim her final sleep.”

“Will you place your trust in me?” you recite.

“Yes.”

“Will you protect me when others fail?”

“Forever.”

"Will you die for me?"

Karkat, who is in some kind of zone of intense concentration, tilts his head back so the shotel pushes just a little further into his skin. His pupils are dilated to the max. He looks at you so determined and sharp and intense, like he's going to suck out your soul. You feel a little frightened when he says it, because his voice is so wound up, he means it so deeply. "At your word."

Okay, you know that at any other point in all your adventures, if you were to turn to him and randomly say, "hey, Karkat! Kill yourself!" He'd definitely ask if you were replaced with an evil clone of yourself or went grimbark again. Like a normal person! But, right now, at this moment, if you deviated from the script and said, "hey Karkat! Kill yourself!" he'd… really do it. He'd just shove that dull sword into his throat, no questions asked. You've got this weird urge to start screaming that you manage to suppress.

“And in the presence of my gods, the… the bond is sealed,” you stutter.

You choke up a bit. He’s your knight now! Your knight! Forever and ever! Tears well up behind your eyes and the only thing that saves you from bawling with happiness is the droning onslaught of ‘y’ words from the back altar.

“-sygnefyaunce of the armes of a knyght is complete, let the wytche entere to ceremony thys daye-”

This is the part where you swap positions. You don’t get to be smacked with a dull weapon though, you just get kissed. Not like you’re complaining, hee.

He stands above you now, and you sit up on both knees instead of just one, as high as you can so he can bend over and smooch your forehead when the vows call for it. Karkat, leaning over you, is giving the impression that he has too many emotions and they are all trying to leak out of him wherever they can. He’s not sobbing, just calm, quiet tears that shine in the candle glow.

“-maked her wytche, and girde her with agape, and kyss her so-”

He kisses you once on the forehead, then on the cheeks, soft, lingering, some wetness transferring over to you. Which nearly makes you sympathy cry. But you’ve got lines to recite! You can’t mess up or get waterlogged. It’s your turn now.

You have to pause in order to go through the next line in your head to make sure everything’s right. Okay, you think you’re good.

“Under the eye of the god that guards him, I begin my dedication. I, daughter of the twin Patrices, hereby swear myself to the service of mage slayer Karkat Vantas, left scarlet jewel of the Alternian diadem, and will be the light on his path, his guide in the fog, and will protect him until the Secret God brings him to rest.”

Karkat looks at you all proud, which makes your heart feel like it’s swelling ten sizes bigger. “Will you come for me at my greatest need?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Will you pledge your life to me?”

“Yes!”

“Will you bind yourself to my fate?”

“Yes! Yes,” you say, and you mean it so much. Your knight, your dependent and protector, your sword, your partner in crime, thick as thieves and strong as iron. There’s just one more thing to say, and you’ll be his until the end.

“And in the presence of my god,” he says, determined as ever. “The bond is sealed.”

It is only through some very intense self control that you’re able to resist leaping onto him and kissing every inch of his face. He helps you to a standing position, and you can’t bring yourself to look into his beautiful red eyes because you know you’ll lose it totally. You can wait five minutes. Five minutes, then you’re alone with your dearest knight.

The both of you bow to the priest and the officiator at the back altar. The priest finishes with a little closing speech about the “Ordre of Chyualry” and “Propyre Holy Necromancy” and how the two of you need to be responsible for one another or some demi-god somewhere is going to hurl lightning at you. Once she’s done, both the officiator and the priest begin clapping for you, happily. It’s a nice gesture! You and Karkat straighten up, but you don’t dare glance at each other quite yet. 

The officiator makes a couple flourishing squiggles on the certificates the Knight and Mage coalition keeps, then rolls them up. The priest, in a normal voice this time, says, “And now, we leave you to your vigil. Every preparation has been made, and as a reminder, you’re not allowed to breach these doors until sunrise.”

You nod, smiling. What comes next is hands down the best part— you’re supposed to have an all-night vigil before the non-denominational altar while thinking committed thoughts about each other, and also take a ritual bath so you’re clean for your new emergence into the world as witch and knight! You’ve heard it gets super intimate. Sitting in a dark candlelit church, whispering all your secret desires to each other, taking a bath… Yeah, you’re gonna _fuck_.

The officiator and the priest leave, locking the big church doors behind them. You’re alone. You swivel to him, an eyebrow waggle on your face and a teasing ‘we’re all aloooone!’ half-forming on your lips. But you can’t say it when you look at him.

He’s trembling, his pupils as wide as a void, his jagged teeth digging into his lower lip. He stares you dead in the eye, with something that almost looks like fear. You’re not sure what to do until he manages to collect himself enough to speak. “My witch,” he says, voice dry. He cracks a desperate, crooked smile. "I need you."

You start giggling, because that’s the closest approximation to what you’re feeling. You feel weightless, like you’re going to take off and shoot into the sky anytime, and you can’t stop the laughter from rising up in your throat and bubbling out like you’re a preteen again. “Yes, love!” 

He collapses onto you, folding around you like you’re the filling in his pastry dough. And it’s really hard to kiss him because you’re just so smiley and he’s just so passionate, the two of you on opposite sides of the feeling spectrum but somehow the same at the core. The both of you eventually find a rhythm to fit into. 

You pull him up the steps to stand on the comfy rug, which you are totally going to make love on. You’re just going to fuck right on the floor! Your plan is to have the greatest missionary sex in the history of ever. You’re going to make eye contact the whole time, and have ooey gooey foreplay, and kiss a lot, and Karkat’s going to cry again, and the gods are going to get a peep show you guess, and it’s going to be _awesome_.

You’re planting kisses all over his soft, sort of wet face, when the plan changes. You’re trying to tug him down to the carpet with you, but Karkat seems to want to stay standing. You pull away from him a little, give him a questioning look. He looks half-embarrassed, half-contemplative.

“Can we,” he rasps out, more careful with his words than usual. “Try something new?”

“Sure, Karkat,” you say, sliding your hand through his soft hair. “Anything you want.”

He pauses for a couple seconds, then says, “Could you use a knife on me?” 

Whaaaat!? You're usually pretty keen on trying out new stuff, and even if you aren't you try to suggest something similar to do, but that's just way too extreme. “Okay, not that,” you say, quickly. Karkat winces.

"No, fuck, I don't mean-" he facepalms, his hand quivering as he slides it down his face. "Don't fucking stab me with it. I mean, could you… threaten me?"

That one you can at least tolerate, even though it seems a little unlike him. You frown. "Ummmm, that doesn't sound like something I would like to do right now. Can we try that some other time, when I'm not feeling all gooey and in love with you?"

"Fuck, no, that's not what I meant either," he says, frustrated with himself. He chews on his lip with his big jagged teeth, slowly turning redder and redder in the dim candlelight. Whatever he's thinking about is apparently super hot, because you're starting to smell him. And you refuse to believe that any troll in existence has better pheremones than your Karkat Vantas. He's all cinnamony and salty and it's just so indescribably him.

Even though you're not a troll, you've definitely developed a little bit of a Pavlovian response to his pheromones. The saturated scent puts you in that sexy state of mind. Although right now a sexy state of mind is Karkat lovingly fucking you in the missionary position on the soft furry carpet in front of an altar while romantic sacred candles flicker in the distance. But Karkat seems to be thinking of whatever the opposite of that is.

He tilts his head back a bit, exposing his neck to you, and gives you a heavy lidded, red eyed, lips parted look that just oozes vulnerability. His voice is dead serious, slurred and dark.

"Please use me," he says. "I want to be your toy."

You nearly scream. Oh boy that gets you all heated. You think you get ten degrees warmer everywhere but between your legs, which gets twenty billion degrees warmer. Okay, goodbye missionary, hello kinky sub Karkat! You were born for having wacky sex in a church. This is like, your erotic destiny.

You resist bursting out with some kind of silly Jade-innuendo because Karkat is like, super super into this and you don't want to pull him out of it. You give him a warm smile. "Sure, I'll play with you, Karkat. How about you undress for me first?" 

He shivers, then sort of awkwardly scrambles to unbuckle his gauntlets, but you place your hand over his to stop him. "Slow down, we have all night."

He begins unbuckling them at a more reasonable pace. You watch him take off his armor with a growing hunger. Why's he getting this kinky now, all of a sudden? You think you understand why. So you continue with, "Take your time. I want to cherish the last moments you'll be in your colors before you wear mine forever, okay?"

He seems to like that, his face growing even redder. You think about sitting down and watching this beautiful masterpiece of a troll do a sexy striptease for you, but you get an idea in your head. You think he wants to be hurt a little. Lovingly hurt? You haven’t really done any of that kind of stuff to him besides for biting and scratching. You don’t have a lot of equipment around to use, so you glance around the room to get creative. Oh, huh, there suuuuure are a whole lot of candles, aren’t there?

Well, you hope this is safe.

He’s taking off his pauldrons when you tell him you’ll “be right back!” and run over and grab a fat, round candle and the brass drip plate from the bigger altar behind you. You return to stand in front of him. He’s taking off his cape now, and giving you a curious look. You tilt the candle a bit, drip some of the wax onto the inside of your arm to test out the temperature. 

“Oh,” says Karkat, in a moment of realization. He yanks his tunic up over his head and you hear a muffled, “Fuck yes.”

It feels kind of nice. When the wax hits your arm it stings a little, but then the pain quickly transitions into a comforting sort of warmth. As the wax hardens, it pulls at your skin and makes it feel all tight. Maybe he can do this on you some other time!

You set the candle on the floor in its drip tray, then scratch the wax off your skin as Karkat takes off his twenty billion shirts he’s wearing. Why are these outfits so complicated, don’t they know you’re gonna bone!? He manages to discard everything without getting stuck in it and stands in front of you, chest exposed. He breathes heavy, and you give him some quality Jade leers. You can’t help it. He’s a lithe hottie sculpted by every god in the planar sphere.

“Everything?” he says, and gestures at his prosthetic.

“Yes, everything! Every limb you’ve got,” you confirm, and you sit down on the rug crosslegged. You pat your lap. “Come here, knight of mine.”

He sits down in your lap sidesaddle, then screws off his prosthetic. You help him with the rest, boot and pants and other underthings, and place them all a safe distance away from your candle. 

He’s totally naked, minus his jewelry, and you’re totally clothed, which gives you a rush. You have him loop his arms around your shoulders and look at you as you run your hands through his hair and tell him how _pretty_ he is, which really gets his pheremones going. You kiss his face and keep dishing out quality compliments until his bulge is fully unsheathed, looking like it's trying to tie itself into a very interesting knot. 

You have him lie flat on the floor, face up. You run your hands along his taut sides, watching him react to your touch like you’re applying electricity to him. You catch his eye and smile at him. 

“You’re going to be…” you pause, for dramatic effect. “My canvas! Make sure to stay extra still for me, okay?”

"You could tie me up," he suggests, looking almost sleepy with how heavy-lidded he is.

You could probably improvise with his cape or something, but it just sounds inconvenient. Besides, there's no better rope than Karkat’s willpower! You grin at him. "There's no need, right?" 

He shivers, clenches his fists, steeling himself to stay still. "Yes, love."

You pick up the candle. “Make sure to tell me if you don’t like something, okay?” you ask. You wait for his acknowledgment before you begin.

You tilt the candle a safe distance away from him, let a bit of the wax pool down the top, then let it trickle down onto the middle of his super smooth chest. Karkat makes a noise like you just penetrated him. He spasms, shuts his eyes, arches his back, his bulge twitches around like it’s looking for something to knot with. You leave a thin line of wax from the top of his chest down to where his navel would be if he were human, then pull the candle upright. You pet his hair back with your free hand.

“Good?” you ask, and your voice catches a bit.

“Mmm,” he says, his eyes opening to slits to look at you. Red and yellow shine in the candlelight. “Make it hotter.”

You move the candle closer to his skin for the next line of wax, which you start at his shoulder and then draw diagonally down across his chest. That gets him gasping, his extra sensitive skin probably giving him all sorts of interesting sensations! You wonder how the wax feels for him versus how it feels on you. You’ll ask him when he’s feeling talkative again.

Satisfied you’re doing it right, you begin drawing lines all over his torso. You probably should have drawn an actual picture on him, but, well, you’re a little distracted! He’s so beautiful, every movement or shudder or spasm of his makes you squirm and squeeze your legs together. You kind of want to give up and hop on him, you probably don't even need any foreplay at this point, but you can't! This is a challenge! You’re going to get him to come hands free. You’re doing it. You’re totally going to make it happen.

Well, not _totally_ hands free. You don’t want to get wax on his bulge, so you have to hold it out of the way when you move the candle action to his hips and legs. His bulge gets all squirmy in your hand, trying to rub itself off between your fingers, but you refuse to stroke it at all! No matter how tempting it is.

You have, through lots of experimentation, found out that the most sensitive part of Karkat is where his thigh joins his hip on his right side, just outside of his ‘dead-nerve’ zone. You pour the wax just barely outside of where he can feel it the most. Karkat makes a noise that forces a blush out of you. White trickles down the inside part of his thigh. You resist stroking his bulge, but goddess, it’s hard.

Karkat is shaking like a demon, his eyes totally shut, his head thrown back so his horns press into the rug. His arms are still clamped at his sides, following your order to the letter. You tell him, “Look at you! You’re so good, you’re such an obedient knight!”

He sputters out a, “< _Gods- fuck- Jade-_ >” and you know you’re close to getting him over the edge.

You hold the candle a little farther away as you let the wax flow down his pelvic bone, down the joint of his leg, close (but not too close!) to his sheath. When the wax trails the area where he’s most sensitive, he bucks his hips up, gasping out nonsense in Alternian. You have a hard time holding onto his writhing bulge, but you manage to keep it nice and safe!

“Just a little more, okay? You can do it,” you say, eyes locked on the display of wax and red pre-come. “I’m going to do that again.”

You wait for the wax to settle, Karkat fighting against the imaginary restraints he placed on himself, and tilt the candle so it drips out in the same manner. You watch it trail down his beautiful bones, to the joint. Karkat digs his nails into the carpet.

"< _Come for me?_ >" you ask.

One more drip of wax along the fold of his hip and he's finished. Karkat collapses against the floor, breathing deep, and does exactly what you ask of him. His bulge swells in your hand, gets all tight and tense, and begins slowly pushing out bursts of red slurry onto the flat of his stomach. Karkat has his eyes shut, blissed out and utterly relaxed, those lovely post-sex tears he sometimes gets leaking from the edges of his lids and slipping down the sides of his face. You put your hand in his. Well, your hand that isn't firmly grasping his throbbing dick, anyway.

"Good boy," you say. Karkat makes a 'nnn' kind of noise. "Let's go somewhere where you won't leave a stain."

You picture the ritual bath chamber, in the basement of the church: a big, dark blue room, with a giant pool in the middle and petals floating all along the top of the steamy, rose-scented water. You allow your teleportation to consume you, and you arrive on the tiled floor, seamlessly transitioning so Karkat doesn’t bump his head on the hard ground.

It’s dimmer in here, most of the candles along the edge of the room are unlit. The baths are way, way more humid and hot than upstairs, it gets you even more squirmy than you already are. You run your hands through Karkat’s hair and squeeze and stroke his bulge a bit, like you would a human cock, to, um, milk it all out of him. Karkat opens his eyes to give you the softest look in the world. You could melt, really. 

When he’s done, his bulge retracting into his sheath, you help him sit up. You giggle at the sight of his torso and hips, he’s a _mess_. “I should start cleaning you up, huh? Maybe I’ll get the wax off first before we get in the bath, does that sound okay?”

He nods, and you kneel to the side of him, roll your sleeves way up and out of the way, and press your hands to his chest. You push your fingers against the dried wax on his collarbone, and it peels off pretty easily. You think it’s that smooth troll skin doing the trick, no pain required!

As you pry off the wax, Karkat reaches up under your skirts, between your legs. He drags his fingers up the inside of your thigh. You shiver a little. "Oh, Karkat, you don't have to-"

He preses his fingers against your labia, and you immediately shut up because _oh yes he has to_. You're still wearing your underwear, and holy fucking shit are you turned on. It’s a wonder how you're even functioning with how much blood is pumping directly to where he's touching. He teases your entrance a bit, pushes the tips of two fingers in, fabric and all, and you're about ready to rip apart your underwear and ride his hand until tomorrow. He tilts his head to kiss you.

"Take those off," he murmurs, against your lips. "You're soaked through."

You scramble away from him, hurl your shoes across the room, and yank your underwear completely off. Karkat gives this a cute, sleepy chuckle at your antics. Okay, you guess it is sort of funny, but a girl's gotta get pleasured, dammit! You settle back into where you were and Karkat, thank goodness, doesn't mess around. He slips three fingers into your pussy and lazily fucks you like that, while you kneel over him and attempt to continue removing the wax. Key word there is attempt.

He doesn’t help you out with your task. He shifts away to get both hands down there, one working at your clit and the other rhythmically thrusting. You totally give up. You have needs. You can’t work in this kind of environment!

You wrap your hands around his horns, for something to grab onto. He makes a purring sort of noise when you do so. You babble out commands. "Down a little- lighter touches- I- yes, right there, yes, please, Karkat-"

It is an embarrassingly short time before you’re comeing, clinging to his shoulders, gasping for breath. It is, without a doubt, a _very good_ orgasm. 

The cleanup is even better.

You thought for sure you’d have sex again while bathing. Even though nobody ever bones during this part, Latula and Mituna didn't even bone in the big ritual tub and those two are notoriously fiendish about having sex in weird places and then telling everybody about it. You thought you'd be a sexy trailblazer! But the bath ends up being so sweet and tender and loving so you totally forget about being aroused during it. 

You take turns washing each other and drying each other off. Karkat washes you first and he's so gentle and he tells you this really dumb story about flowers while he's doing it and, oh, goddess, he loves you so much. You can feel it in every movement of his hands and how he looks at you all quiet and soft and sometimes like he's going to start crying. When it's your turn, you try to do your best to reciprocate, and you get overwhelmed and actually _do_ start crying, for the first time this night.

When you’re all dry, you get into the soft underthings you’re going to wear beneath your outfits tomorrow. You’ve got a slip, Karkat’s got a loose shirt and cropped pants, you both can barely stand to stop touching each other in order to put them on. You go back upstairs the normal way, holding hands, treading carefully with your bare feet, and settle in on the rug in front of the altar for the long haul. 

It’s pretty much just a sleepover party! A really, really intimate sleepover party. In a church. You’re supposed to talk to each other about how chivalrous you feel about each other and selfless love and your deep connection and other big broad concepts found in Karkat’s romance novels. But since it’s you and Karkat, you kind of veer off the path of ‘holy topycs’ and end up bantering about, like, food and your friends and stuff. It’s very soft banter, where you’re staring really really deep into each other’s eyes and feel like you’re going to burst into every emotion ever. But it’s still banter. Karkat, when referring to the Leprechaun language, definitely says the actual words, “Beep beep Vantas, arriving in a cute burst of lucky charms on the linguistic fuckbus” which you’re pretty sure wasn’t something that anybody ever thought would be said in a holy ceremony.

You do eventually have marshmallow sweet sex in the missionary position at like, four in the morning. It’s pretty great. Probably number one on your list of ‘top ten missionary sexcapades.’ You think it’ll stay at number one for at least a whole decade. You fall asleep on the floor _immediately_ after. So much for an all-night vigil.

Karkat thankfully wakes you up early, before the priest comes back, so you have time to change (and pretend you were awake the whole time). He’s got your back! Good knight, best friend.

You get into your red dress you picked out for the “battlefield ceremony,” and Karkat gets into his green outfit. You both stare at and admire each other for an embarrassing amount of time before laughing and grabbing each other’s hands, meeting the priests in the main hall and walking out of the church together.

You get some time between the end of the church ceremony and the beginning of the battlefield ceremony, which is mostly used to sign some various legal forms. There aren’t too many, so you get breathing room to make your way to the palace gardens, which John is lending to you for the day. The gardens are huge and sprawling, with hedges grown and shaped for hundreds of years forming impenetrable plant barriers between the different sections. It’s the end of spring, so all the flowers planted in the big marble boxes are colorful and in bloom!

The itinerary is pretty lax for this kind of ceremony. You pretty much just take some cute little vows in front of everybody, then socialize through the afternoon until the party comes to a early close. It’s a reception where you can see all your loved ones.

You think everybody you invited came except for Kankri, who had to stay secluded because of the danger with him and Feferi being in the same place. You’re lucky that nobody malicious knows Karkat could _also_ be killed and manipulated to do biomancy, otherwise some friends of yours might not be able to come! You definitely didn’t invite Vriska for exactly that reason.

The brief part where you and Karkat take vows in front of everybody is mostly just a much lighter rehash of the previous night’s ceremony. Just some fun stuff so your friends and family can see! You stand up on a simple platform in front of everybody sitting in rows of chairs, while the priest cues you in on certain lines. Karkat _absolutely_ starts bawling during it. Dave stands up and begins applauding at the first tear shed, and is yanked back down to his chair by Aradia, sitting behind him.

After that, you get the reception started! There’s all sorts of tables and snacks strewn about the gardens, so everything’s free flowing and social and happy. You want everyone to have a good time!

You split off from Karkat to socialize. You visit with Kanaya, talk with her about how Kankri’s doing, about her latest complicated medical research you have a hard time parsing in Alternian. You talk with Terezi and pet the cute little baby dragon she has on her shoulder. You chat with Jake, who was mercifully spared from most of the drama that went down at your wedding. You visit with your dad about what surreal demigod antics he’s up to this week, and you talk with Equius and Jane about some lighthearted Porkmor-Kahn gossip. You’re kind of missing someone important, though…

You cut into a conversation Karkat’s having with Latula to ask if he knows where your brother is. 

Karkat gestures over his shoulder, pointing to a gap in the hedge walls. “Oh you know, he’s behind the garden wall, doing the usual: looming around, talking intrigue, and looking like a bastion of pure evil.”

You head through the grassy passageway Karkat indicated, and poke your head around the corner, looking into a pretty empty chunk of garden. You thought Karkat was exaggerating, but… well… hmm.

You think you caught them in a rare moment. For some reason, it feels just as awkward as if you walked in on them kissing. You step out from around the hedges into their view. Neither of them look embarrassed; they shift into genuine smiles when they see you.

“Jade!” they both say, excitedly. You’re not able to excitedly shout their names back, because John is already rushing you for a big hug.

It’s so big he even picks you up a little, and it definitely makes you happy but it doesn't feel as warm as before. Karkat told you all the stuff that went down behind the scenes with your sweet half-brother and you… kind of struggle with it, honestly! You thought he was happily immune to all the political garbage you ran away from when you were a teen, but… you guess not. You guess he was raised to do this, after all, born to carry your dumb family legacy of ruling through trickery and conniving. You wish he would have asked you for help. You wish he would have told you to come back.

At least he’s neutral good. You’re pretty sure your mom was a slam dunk lawful evil.

You hug him back, of course. You’ll always love him. “I’m so glad you could come,” you say, holding him tight. “I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

He draws back from you and squeezes your upper arms. He laughs. “Seriously? Of course I’d come!”

Feferi shoves him out of the way. “Hey, let me in on the hug party! Hold onto your pearls, Jade!”

Feferi throws herself on you to give you a super enthusiastic pal hug! 10/10 hug, would hug again. You’ve missed her too, but at least you can briefly chat with Feferi at these weird monthly parties Eridan makes you go to. John you haven’t seen since… the coronation banquet, maybe? Jeez.

“I can’t stay for very long,” says Feferi, drawing back from you. “I reely just came to say hi, and a big congrats! I’m so glad you’re happy.”

Your ears fold down against your head. “Aw. Are you both leaving?”

“Just me! I’m making him stick around!” says Feferi, elbowing John in the waist. He laughs a bit when she does so. “He needs a day off to himshellf.”

You’re happy about that. You’re about to spark up a conversation with him, but Feferi jumps the gun.

“One question reel quick, before I forget,” says Feferi. "I've been meaning to ask, have you ever sea-n if you can teach Karkat some of your cool necromancy tricks? It'd be reel fascinating to see if he could do what you can… but with the living! You two would be super unstoppable if Karkat mastered biomancy."

You've never really thought about it. You kind of already boxed Kankri and Karkat into their separate classes. Karkat is a fighter, Kankri is a mage, no multiclassing! She’s right though, Karkat being a biomancer of his own free will would kick ass!

You shrug. “Sure, I’ll ask him if he wants to try it out.”

Feferi grins big, all two hundred sharp teeth on display. “Great! Let me know how it goes!”

“Ah, hey,” John interjects. “Feferi, before you ditch, you have to try some of the chile con queso!”

Feferi snaps to attention, stars in her eyes. “They have queso!?”

“Yeah!”

Feferi, with sort of a scary voice, rasps out, “I glubbin’ _love_ queso!”

The Empress of Alternia bounds off to go shove her face full of cheese dip. You giggle as you watch her skim around the corner of the hedges and join the party proper. John taps you gently on the shoulder. He looks pretty contemplative. 

"As wicked cool as it would be if you guys did some kind of… godly whatever-mancy team up…" John hesitates, biting his lip. "I wouldn't tell anybody about it, if you do. Maybe not even us!"

You frown. "Why not?"

John stares at you for a little too long, his eyes narrowed a bit, head tilted. "You know… if you guys get so, so powerful…" he says, like he's trying to remember something he hasn't thought about in a while. He doesn’t finish the sentence.

You think you know where he's going— 'what if I take advantage of you?' You feel a little sad. Political garbage gets in the way of life, yet again. You take his hands and hold them in yours, giving him your most encouraging smile. "I have faith in you," you say. "You love us! You're not going to be like Mom."

John frowns. "Mom loved you too."

"She did not! All she did was boss me around and make me get married."

John's face flinches into something pained, like he's going to start crying. "But I'm-! I-" He groans, gives up, and throws his arms around you for another hug. It makes a ‘fwump’ noise when his big Patrician cloak billows around your body, encapsulating you like ink from a squid. You think he enchanted it to do that.

You force him back to the party and drag him to somebody you think will get him to chill out— his dad! Karkat told you once he was a 'silver fox with a jaunty hat' but you don't see it. He just looks… dadly. Like a salt and pepper John with nice teeth and 20/20 vision. His dad starts hurling plates of cake at you and John lightheartedly complains about how embarrassing he’s being and starts smiling for-real again and it’s all business as usual. Thank goodness.

You find Karkat and join forces with him to conquer the table of Dave, Rose, your new friend Roxy, and… Dirk, who was probably ordered to be here for security or something.

Roxy leaps at you and Karkat, squeaking out some heavily-accented ‘hello’s and ‘you are cute’s and ‘I am happy for you’s. Rose and Dave can barely get a hand wave/chill head nod in before Roxy is slamming you both straight into her bosom with some super intense hugs. Karkat manages to squirm away and starts verbally sparring with her in Alternian about his rigid concepts of personal space. You give much calmer hugs to Rose and Dave. You say a hello to Dirk, who gives you a respectful salute back.

“So, if I may ask,” says Rose, sipping her wine, leaving a black lipstick stain on the edge of the glass. “What plans do you two have post-bonding? Anything special?”

“We were thinking of fucking off to Carapacian territory for a while,” says Karkat. He folds his arms. “Neither of us have ever been near there. New adventures to be had, and whatnot.”

“We’ll come back at least once a month,” you add. Eridan’s got a schedule of events for you to go to, but he tries to keep it sparse for you. “I’ll figure out a teleportation route to make it easy. We’ll bring you back some cool magical items as souvenirs! You guys want anything special?”

“I want a cursed sword to match my cuirass,” says Dave, knocking on that stupid cursed bird cuirass he still wears around for some reason.

Rose smiles warmly. “I only wish happiness for the two of you. Take a long break. You’ve earned it.”

“Well, damn, Rose, way to show me up,” says Dave.

Happiness, huh? You can be happy. You and Karkat smile at each other, way too tenderly for public consumption! Rose and Roxy giggle in a suspiciously similar manner. Dave makes a fake swooning pose. 

“I can’t believe you two get along after the massive teenage carriage wreck we all were. It’s almost a miracle. It doesn’t seem rational,” says Dave. He pauses, thinking of something. “Wait, hold up…”

Dave snaps out a beat, then melodically raps, “Almost a miracle. It doesn’t seem rational.”

Karkat starts groaning, you shush him with an elbow to the ribs.

“Why, this rhythm’s just lyrical,” raps Rose, in response. “Things might get intangible.”

“Hello my name is Roxy! There are six animals!” raps Roxy.

“The Deep Mother’s in our ears, we’re off writing canticles,” raps Dirk, his shoulder popping all cool and to the beat.

“Beat’s gettin’ danker than Rose’s madras.”

“Wisdom is our gift; be afraid for the hapless.”

“This is a pen! I have five apples!”

“Hyper-chill family stands on the line of battle.”

“Sayonara, fuckers, I’ve got to skedaddle,” raps Dave. He pulls a strap on his cuirass and poofs into a cute little orange sparrow with itty bitty coolkid shades. He flaps his tiny wings and peeps off into the sky.

Your family might be weird, but at least you don’t have traditional rap battles. It’s a pretty impressive talent though! You start applauding, and Karkat sarcastically slow claps. Rose bows for the two of you.

“He is… gone?” asks Roxy, staring off into the horizon after Dave, legitimately concerned.

“If he’s committed to the joke, he is,” says Dirk.

“I theorize he’ll remain committed for a whopping five minutes,” says Rose. She takes a sip of her wine. "Well, at the very least, I'm now free to excessively hit on any available bachelorettes without having to be subjected to Dave's literal 'wingman' antics. Speaking of which, Jade dear, who was that handsome, curvy, green blooded troll you were talking to earlier?"

You grin. "Oh, that'd be Kanaya, she's a doctor, like Karkat."

Karkat scowls. "She's a mortician, being a doctor is more of a side gig for when Kankri bruises his frond nubs or what the fuck ever."

Rose licks her lower lip. "A mortician? Kinky." She drinks the rest of her wine, sets the empty glass on the table, and marches away to find poor, unsuspecting Kanaya. You and Karkat grimace at each other.

You make the rounds with just about everybody after that, making sure to visit with all the friends you invited before the reception ends. You have a hard time finding your husband, and enlist Karkat’s help to try and see where he went off to. You find him at sunset. He ends up being in a secluded corner of the garden, siting on the edge of a small fountain with water lilies floating around on the surface of the pool. He’s in his navy finery, with the big gold ropes and the white jacket. He’s got a flower in his hands, is idly pulling at the petals of it. The water of the fountain glimmers with the gorgeous orange of the dying sun.

“< _What are you doing way over here?_ >” asks Karkat, when you get to Eridan. He looks up at the both of you, grumpy as usual.

“< _Takin’ a break. We don’t share the same circle of friends. Fake politeness gets tirin’,_ >” he says, setting the lily back in the fountain. “< _Besides, I fuckin’ hate the Patrician. Every time we talk it ends with no conflict resolution and he ‘accidentally’ hits me in the face with that stupid outfit of his._ >”

That’s… uh, sort of funny. Wow, John. You hold out your hand to offer Eridan help standing up. He takes it. “< _Did you at least enjoy the food? Or the ceremony?_ >”

“< _I guess. But mostly…_ >” he says, then hesitates. He bites his lip, thinking hard about something. He shudders with a wet sob. His voice warbles way more than normal when he says, “< _It warms my cold-blooded heart to know you two are happy!_ >”

He leans forward, wraps one arm around each of your waists, puts his head between your shoulders, and just starts bawling. You and Karkat both look at each other over his head, shrug, and pat his back in unison. Karkat maybe lingers a little more than necessary. You _swear_ Karkat’s going pale for him. It’s cute! It might be good for the both of them if that turned into an actual thing.

You have a fairly normal conversation with him after he manages to recover. Actually, most of your conversations with him are normal now, the three of you are really getting used to each other. He’s a lot more tolerable, and even likeable, when he isn’t being rude or narcissistic.

The party doesn’t go super late, it ends around 8pm, which is just fine with you! It gives you more settle-down time with Karkat before bedtime, which you desperately need. You help clean up a little, say some goodbyes to those who stayed until the end, and turn in early with Karkat. You take him to your room in the palace, probably the last time you’ll sleep in here for a very long while.

You get ready for bed with him, getting in your cute nightgown, turning the lights off, and crawling under the covers with your new knight. You dub yourself Big Spoon and snuggle up to Karkat, folding your arms tight around his waist and pressing your face to his shoulders. He squeezes your arms, gentle.

“I’m so glad we did that,” he says, as you settle in. “I’m still… I’m still as giddy as a grub in a candy store on half-price day, I think I’m actually _happy,_ Jade.”

“I love you,” you say.

“For some reason,” he says. “Can’t fathom why. I’m prone to fainting spells and smell weird.”

“Hush, you smell nice,” you say, obnoxiously smelling him to prove it. He tries to duck away from you. Too bad, you’ve got him on lockdown! “Actually, that’s probably why I like you so much. Sorry, Karkat, I guess it’s all pheromonal.”

He gives up on the spooning thing and rolls to face you. He shakes your shoulders lightly, mockingly. “Dammit, I knew it. You’re just with me because of _science_ , you cold bloodpusher-ed monster. After all this time, I’m still just a wacky, mutant experiment to you.”

“Uh, duh!” You take his hand, lace his fingers with yours. “Tomorrow night I’m going to strap you down to a table and poke you with a pretend scalpel. It’ll be really hot. A sexy biopsy.”

You beam at him, even though it’s probably too dark to see. He groans. “Goddammit, you vicious she-witch. I can’t resist when you turn on your charm spells like that.”

“Pssh, no. You’ve always been immune to my magic, silly. I guess, maybe, you just genuinely like me.”

“Understatement of the century,” he says. He shifts, to kiss your forehead. “Actually, I’ve spent a criminally small amount of time addressing elaborate declarations of love to you. I’m going to get at that, right the fuck now.”

You kiss him before he can even start. He gives in for a bit, but eventually tries to keep talking around your lips. You completely ignore him. He has to pull your hair back to get you off. “Jade,” he says, half-laughing. “Jade, my witch, you’re my everything. < _You are the bones of my enemies as I lay siege to the battlefield. I could go to war in your name, I would take down whole cities, whole countries-_ >”

“Less talk, more kiss.” you say, going back in for some more amazing mouth-to-mouth.

“No, wait, yes, fuck, wait, I-”

You kiss him again anyway, and he shuts up beautifully. 

The kisses don’t last too long. Karkat seems much sleepier than you, probably due to his noble sacrifice of actually trying to stay up for the entire all-night vigil. You settle in against his chest, listen to his heart slow like you’ve done so many times, and think about how tonight it feels all the more precious. You’ve finally got what you wanted with him. After all this time.

Before he falls asleep he mutters “< _I can’t believe you’re *mine,* moon and stars_ >” and it makes you feel all warm and gooey and… blessed, honestly. You feel very blessed to be here, with him, that it all turned out alright. You want to think of something to say to him before he drifts off, something deep and meaningful, something that can sum up how he makes you feel. But instead you think of… something better.

“Good _knight,_ ” you whisper back, unable to hide the smile in your voice.

There’s a few seconds of silence, before Karkat throws his head back against the pillow, tenses up, and groans very, very loudly. You don’t stop laughing for a good five minutes. 

It’s perfect.

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jade and Karkat's saga has very happily come to a close. Thanks for reading, everyone.
> 
> If you managed to read through the whole two parter, I'd love to hear about it! Did you like Sepulcrum romanum? What was your favorite part? Did you like Cum mortuis or Sepulcrum romanum better? (they were very different stories, weren't they?)
> 
> I'd love to crank out a third longfic for NaNoWriMo, so stay tuned! I really hope it will happen. It'll be a standalone with a WAY different narrator, so... feel free to forget everything that happened? There will be more deaths, more laughs, more devious plots, more slow burn, less sex (but still some sex). You can track my progress on [this page.](https://nanowrimo.org/participants/thunderclocking/novels/vanitas-vanitatum/stats) If somebody manages to guess the pairing I’ll draw you a thing. I'M... CURIOUS TO SEE THE GUESSES...
> 
> DVD EXTRAS:  
> [A (joke) prequel](https://oxfordroulette.dreamwidth.org/60634.html#cutid1)  
> FST [[stayed up all night link](http://suan.fm/mix/xOxnkfc)] [[8tracks link](https://8tracks.com/oxfordroulette/cooking-by-the-book)] [[track list](http://oxfordroulette.tumblr.com/post/166700135197/the-traditional-longfic-fst-as-we-get-ready-to)]  
> Jade pouring hot wax all over Karkat not FUCKED UP ENOUGH FOR YA!? How about [A BONUS JOHNVRIS STORY!!!!](https://oxfordroulette.dreamwidth.org/59635.html) (please read the content warnings)


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